Theoretical Love
by Velvet Nights and Satin Skies
Summary: Theoretically, the Marriage Law shouldn't have even passed in the first place. But it did, and now two very similar people are thrown together. Here's the catch - he's a murderer, and she's an Auror trying to incriminate him. Welcome to politics. SS/OC
1. Chapter 1

~-* **Chapter One: Boorish, Unimaginative Slob ***-~

* * *

><p>For a mob of people, it was surprisingly quiet.<p>

There were different kinds of silences, she mused as she sat, and this was perhaps the most unique and uncomfortable. This was the silence where there was nothing to be said, nothing to be done – and the thing that they faced was hard and unbearable. The tension hissed in the air, sending a shimmering sheet of heated electricity over the crowd of still witches, all of them feeling the tight anxiousness joining them in an invisible web of nervousness. Several benches had been Conjured to support the crowds, but most of them were standing in a long line, as if getting the news quickly would be easier than waiting for the agonizingly slow line to inch forward. A Silencing Charm had been placed over the head of the line, to muffle the angry shouts and fragile sobs of the delicate witches as they received their letters. The woman watched the idle fascination as the stream of tortured witches went to the next room to meet their spouses, watched their faces and expressions as they left the closely packed room. Some were relieved, some were terrified, and some were enraged, all of these emotions visible on their faces and stirring together like potions in a cauldron.

Unlike the restless majority of the room, the witch in question was sitting on a bench, her nerves frayed to shredded nothingness, trying to hide her fears behind a notepad and a cold façade. Her ankles were crossed, her posture impeccably prim, square-framed glasses perched on the tip of her nose as her lips tightened while she pursued the notes she had jotted. At her feet, a small leather bag sat quietly, a watchdog, a sentry, sitting near her calves. Gray stockings disappeared into a black pleated skirt, cinched at the waist with a narrow black belt. A white blouse was tucked crisply into her skirt, and a gray vest was buttoned firmly across her chest. A sheaf of silver-blonde hair fell in her eyes as she began writing again, her right hand grasping the corner of her notepad firmly, her left wrist planted hard on the soft sheet of paper as she wrote. Her hairstyle was short and cropped close in back, with no bangs in front – so no hair would fall into her vision, yet there was always a sheaf of blonde hair that avoided even the best shears. When her gaze flicked up from the pad of paper, a pair of lazy, cold gray eyes scanned the room as if searching for potential predators, and then dropped her gaze like a guillotine whenever someone tried to catch her eyes.

"Gother, Sarah!"

At the sound of her name, those iron-gray eyes swept upwards, and she rose, setting her teeth determinedly and hiding the fact that her hands were shaking by sliding her notepad into her bag. She swung the bag over her shoulder and crossed the room, her comfortable – and sensibly low-heeled – shoes tapping in the quiet of the room. She felt eyes follow her, terrified, wide eyes, like lambs watching another sheep go to slaughter. Her nostrils flared subtly and she tilted her head back, sending that quirky sheaf of blonde hair sliding back against her cheek again, and she automatically tucked it behind her ear. She walked briskly up to the small glass window where a frazzled-looking receptionist marked her name with a tap of her wand. "Miss Chancery?" She said drily, looking up at the younger witch. The blonde woman took the envelope with a mechanical nod and stepped to one side so another witch could step up. The witch behind her had bushy brown hair and chocolate brown eyes, and she began speaking the instant Sarah stepped aside.

"This is a completely illegal venture, do you know that? You  
>can't just force other witches and wizards to marry each other with no previous look at commitments or backgrounds!" The bushy-haired girl said, but the receptionist had apparently heard this too much today, and instead merely handed the envelope to the bushy-haired girl and beckoned to the next girl in line. Fuming, the bushy-haired witch tore into the envelope feverishly and succeeded in slashing it down the middle in her anger.<p>

Not five inches away, a far-shorter and much quieter blonde witch pursued with growing horror the answers to the questions her future husband had given. Every questionnaire had been filled out with a Truth-Teller Quill, so every answer was completely and brutally honest, although judging from the spidery handwriting, she couldn't tell if the answers were written tongue-in-cheek or coldly serious.

**Location: **_A small flat in London, to which I refuse to give the address. If you're the Ministry, look me up in the books._

**Current Occupation: **_I own my own little potion shop, focusing mainly on mail-order, but I do have a small place where you can come in and bother me, if that's what you're asking._

**Previous Occupation: **_I was unemployed for a good while, but my last job was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at a prestigious school. _

**Previous Marital Status:** _Never married, thank Merlin._

**Current Marital Status: **_Didn't I just answer that?_

**Favorite Book: **_If you honestly expect me to answer a question I could find in _Witch Weekly's_ "true love" survey, you will be saddened to know that I refuse to answer this question, as it is a waste of my time and ink._

**Favorite Author: **_See answer above._

**What are you looking for in a spouse: **_Seeing as this ridiculous law has overruled many appeals, I see this is a question I must answer, unfortunately. Someone quiet, intelligent, and who has the ability to keep their mouths shut and stay out of my way. Also, someone who can at least try to hold up their end of a conversation without reverting to insipid topics for which I care nothing for._

**Age: **_Thirty-seven. Merlin, I'm old._

**Name: **_Professor Severus Snape, Order of Merlin, Second Class._

**Compatibility: 89%**

The small blonde witch leaned against the wall with a thump, all the blood draining from her face and her icy gray eyes going blank as she tried to absorb the meaning of the last line. She tried to swallow, to coat her dry throat with something, and then gave up. There was no use – she couldn't protest. Protestation never helped her, anyway.

She was going to be married to a murderer.

* * *

><p>He stretched out his legs in front of him, ever muscle frozen and wound like a spring ready to snap. His black cloak was drawn tightly around him, and he ignored the hubbub with practiced ease. There had been a strict no-hexing rule at the door, but that didn't stop the almost constant stream of jinxes flying towards the poor receptionists who were handing out the unfortunate test results. Eventually, wands had to be handed over with a magical golden strip around the handle to identify them, which worked to a point. Now the disgruntled grooms were sparring verbally and physically, and the entire room stank of testosterone. Some of the men tripped out the door with dreamy, lovelorn expressions on their faces, and to these wizards the man curled his lip and sneered. He folded his arms tightly across his chest and watched with snide fascination the angered, yet also anxious, looks on the faces of the wizards. He saw more than one person he knew, including two-thirds of the Golden Trio – even these celebrities hadn't been exempt from the brutal law. It was a stupid law, really – specifically pairing Muggle-borns and half-bloods with Pure-bloods. It had been artfully produced three years ago, and had been been painstakingly worked on for the past two years as it was turned down numerous times. All sorts of the common people protested it, but the people who supported it were the people in power, and also, the ones who were already married. Even the Minister himself, Kinsley Shacklebolt, had hastily gotten himself wedded to a certain Hannah Abbott not a week before the official law came out.<p>

He checked his nails and waited, ignoring the angry mutters of the wizards around him. Directly across from him was the Golden Boy himself, a classically handsome man with curly, unruly black hair and striking green eyes, and attracting most of the attention in the room. He must have had witches clamoring for him before this sudden captivity, and Severus almost felt sympathetic for him. But it was Harry Potter, so he quelled any pity in his chest for the handsome man with a cruel smirk. Now, the other one on the hand, the lanky ginger who was in the papers almost constantly, was one of the ones shouting insults. Potter had given up on him hours ago, and the Weasel-King was shooting sour glances towards a certain sleek-haired blonde who bore the scar of the Malfoy name. Weasley was famous in the papers, coming out boldly with different photos every other day with new gorgeous women hanging on his arm. And each one was captioned "Weasley Getting Serious", but everyone knew it was a lie. The Weasley boy would rather swallow a live Flobberworm than get shackled into a relationship, and yet here he was. He felt another grim smile curl his mouth.

"Snape, Severus!"

He got to his feet with a swirl of his dark cloak, and he strode up to the booth, snatching the papers from the receptionist's shaking hands before the pale man had a chance to say anything. He stepped off to one side with a decisive click of his boots, and ripped open the paper, slitting it with his finger neatly and whisking out the paper. His dark, liquid black eyes devoured the words on the page before him, and the contemptuous sneer grew more pronounced with every word he read.

**Location:** _154 Dunston Street. It's a pretty little cottage in the country, where I reside with my parents._

**Current Occupation: **_I'm a columnist for _The Daily Prophet_. I write under a penname, so don't even try to look me up._

**Previous Occupation: **_Student. This is my first job._

**Previous Marital Status: **_Nothing has ever piqued my interest, so I'm very, very single and have never been married. I can't imagine if I had, although I think I might be a good deal happier choosing my own mate than being thrust together with some boorish, unimaginative slob that you picked off the streets at random. _

**Current Marital Status: **_This question is unnecessary in my case, and I refuse to repeat myself. It's not a task I find pleasant or enjoyable._

**Favorite Book: **101 Things Not To Do While Brewing, _by James Druther. It's witty and sarcastic, two things I like to see in a book. _

**Favorite Author: **_H.G. LaGrange, a talented authoress who writes the most poignant nonfiction I have ever seen in my life. Her brusque outlook on the distinctions between undermined races are completely riveting. I strongly suggest you go out and buy some of her works._

**What are you looking for in a spouse: **_Now, you can hardly expect me to answer that honestly, can you? I suppose someone who makes me feel safe. Someone smart, and witty. I do appreciate a good laugh, so funny as well. Oh, hell, I think every woman is looking for a man like that. If you find him, and he's not a complete slob or a cardboard cut-out, please send him my way. _

**Age: **_Twenty-five years of age, thank you very much._

**Name: **_Sarah Gother_

He arched an eyebrow and actually snorted aloud. They were marrying him off to some innocent little girl? He checked the age again. Twenty five? The age gap between them was astronomical. But at the same time, she was living with her parents at the age of twenty five? He shook his head and wadded the questionnaire in a tight ball in his fist, thrusting it into his pocket. He swerved through the crowd, setting his jaw and slamming the door open with the heel of his hand. He marched out into the wide, spacious hallway, the cool, fresh air bathing his face. He collided abruptly with someone, and he instinctively drew back, a scowl already forming on his face and a retort springing to his lips. But instead of seeing a frowning wizard, he saw a short, pale blonde witch with no blood in her cheeks and who looking in grave danger of fainting. He brushed himself off and snapped out a curt apology. "Sorry," He grunted, and she looked up full into his face, the obsidian eyes meeting with her silvery-gray ones. They stood out sharply from her pale face like two stars, and he felt his jaw tightening. She was short and petite, barely coming up to his chest, with a square, no-nonsense look to her shoulders and a decidedly aesthetic look about her, as if her clothes had been chosen to look pretty but businesslike. Round hips and full breasts were flattened profusely by unseen Charms and garments, a woman who wants to attract no negative attention whatsoever.

He was everything she remembered from the haunting days of terror in his Potions classes. She had graduated with high marks, but only because she had gnawed off half her fingernails and thrashed awake at night, scribbling feverish notes and cramming for his tests. He was a monster in his classes, deliberately blind to the antics of his House, and a tyrant when it came to grading. She had once gotten points off for misspelling "Lycanthropies" in one of her term papers, and she still remembered the whopping fifty points he had taken off, dropping her grade from a 'E' to an 'A'. He was still just as tall, his black hair grazing his jawline, those dark, hooded eyes sneering at her, his mouth downturned. Every inch of him was dressed in black, from his black vest to his polished black boots. He was broad-shouldered, with a narrower waist than she had remembered, and his cheeks were perhaps a shade thinner. She remembered his long, messy, public trial concerning his duties as a Death Eater. Eventually, he had been exonerated and gifted with amnesty, along with an Order of Merlin for his undercover work, but it didn't change the fact that he had still killed Albus Dumbledore in cold blood. Nobody knew how he had survived his vicious snake wounds to the neck, and even the fantastic stories printed in the _Prophet _were too ridiculous to be believed.

"Professor?" She said in a weak, faint voice glaringly unlike her usually brisk, icy tone. "I'm Sarah Gother. Your future wife."

Surprise reflected momentarily in his midnight black eyes, but vanished just as suddenly. A smirk – a smirk she would become very familiar with – twitched his mouth. "Then I suppose that makes me your boorish, unimaginative slob." He said with a sneer.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Feel free to whack me over the head with a big stick. I'm a terrible author, I know, to go starting another story when I have so many other stories I'm neglecting. Please feel free to leave a review and tell me to knock it off, or, if you like the story, to keep going. It all depends on you. :/ If you like it, then yes, there will be some smut in later chapters, because obviously this is a Marriage-Law fic. If you don't like it, then go ahead and slap me.**


	2. Chapter 2

*-~ **Chapter Two: Not Having The Scars **~-*

* * *

><p>The desk in front of them told them little to nothing about their Marriage Counselor. It was a low, chestnut-coloured desk with a sleek finish, several neat stacks of paper dotted here and there amid the landscape. Behind the small, creaky chair which stood behind the desk, there was a rather ugly painting of a horse galloping through a grassy field. The horse was disproportioned to the rest of the field, making it look at least three stories high, with bulbous eyes which glared at the unhappy couple sitting in front it it. There was a sizeable gap between the two of them, fiancées though they were, a gap in which a good foot of carpet was visible. He shot a furtive glance towards her, and curled his lip at her poise. Her back was straight, legs crossed at the ankles, hands laying still in her lap, her chin erect and willful. Her profile was a snubbed, small thing, with a small nose and a clear, pale complexion. She would have been nice to look at if the icy layers around her silver-snow eyes weren't quite so thick. Her attire was simple and neat, and he felt a ripple of annoyance filter through him. She was a small, overachieving-looking woman, and he couldn't stand the thought of living with her for the rest of his life. Or, until this ridiculous law was repealed, which he hoped would be soon. It was stupid, he told himself as he waited for their Marriage Counselor, stupid because the rifts between blood-statuses would never be broken down. It was a rivalry deeper than animosity, and he didn't think that forcing them together in holy matrimony would actually help matters. The ironic thing was that a certain Muggle-born member of the Golden Trio had lobbied very hard for something to be done about the frizzing tension between the statuses. And now she was forced to marry someone of pure-blood status.<p>

A man came in, his fat, clean hands holding a sheaf of disorganized paper, his graying hair slicked back and badly Charmed to look darker. He wore the traditional Ministry robes – night black with silver trim, and a small blue pin saying MC in large golden letters. He sat down at his desk and offered a tired grin to the tense couple. "Hello. I'm Jack Bennett, your Marriage Counselor," He said in a voice that was far too chipper and fake-sounding for the occasion. "And you must be Mr. and Mrs. Snape," He said.

"I'm _Ms._ Gother, thank you very much," The blonde woman said sourly. His plastic smile faltered, but recovered quickly.

"Yes, well, that will change in a few days, won't it?" He said, and pulled out a document for them to sign. "This is really quite simple – read this, then sign. You can pick a date for your wedding, whenever you like, as long as it's within the next two weeks. The Ministry leaves the entire ceremony up to you, although there is a required Ministry Official attending, to ensure that the vows you say are correct and legally binding."

Severus plucked the document from his hand and scanned it quickly. The type was small, and hard to read, but he examined it thoroughly. His sneer twitched into place when he saw a neatly typed line. "This isn't possible," He said, flattening the paper on the desktop and underlining it with his finger. "'Ministry Charmed wedding ring must be worn at all times to record intimacy and fidelity'. Not only do I not want you sniffing around in my personal life, it isn't possible for me to wear this wedding ring at all times."

Another brilliant, plastic smile. "And why is that, Mr. Snape?" He asked chirpily.

"Because I'm a _brewer_," Severus said, with the tone of one explaining the obvious. "You can't wear any jewelry while making potions – even a simpleton like yourself must realize that."

"Well, Mr. Snape, there really are no exceptions," Jack said smilingly.

The look on Severus's face was fearsome to behold. "Then I strongly suggest you _make_ an exception," He said, his tone low, even, and deadly. Without even looking at her, he felt Sarah flinch and draw instinctively nearer to herself. His voice in his usual tone, while not exactly pleasant, was at least relaxed. He sounded like a scarred tiger, ready to lash out at the world with claws of steel, and not for the last time, she feared him. His voice lowered to a purring snarl. "Because, if you really desire me to undergo this extremely unpleasant process, I will still have to support myself, and that means by making potions."

Jack Bennett swallowed nervously, his falsely bright smile dropping from his features. "Well, I'll, uh, have to check with my superiors, but..." He said, and hastily scribbled something on the contract. Severus sat back, looking smug. Sarah was examining the document closely thought her small, square-framed glasses, and looked up, those icy silver eyes focusing on their Marriage Counselor.

"It says here that 'intimacy is required four times monthly'," She said, and raised one blonde eyebrow. "You are seriously monitoring how many times we _shag_? How low can you stoop?"

Bennett flinched at the word. "The entire, um, point of the program was to create new life. And, Ms. Gother, wouldn't you love to have a child of your own to love?" He said, sounding slightly desperate.

"I can't imagine anything less appealing," Sarah said, narrowing her eyes. "And I thought the entire point of this law was the break down the barriers between blood statuses."

"Yes, well, that's one reason," Bennett said, now looking positively cornered. "But, uh, if you would just sign here?" He tapped the parchment with his finger, and Sarah shot him a glare of absolute loathing. Slowly, she picked up the quill and slashed a sharp _S. Gother_ across the line, her T crossed so violently that it dug through the parchment. Severus picked up the quill and scrawled his name, the thin, spidery handwriting sketching lightly across the dotted line. The Marriage Counselor looked extremely relieved, and tapped the scroll with his wand. With a puff of smoke, it vanished to goodness knows where. "Thank you very much for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Snape." He said, and scurried from the room as quickly as possible.

The two of them sat there for a moment, the silence knifing between them, and then Sarah cleared her throat. "When would it be convenient for you to have the ceremony?" She said, her voice gilded with a frosty bite. Severus turned towards her, arching one eyebrow, and Sarah didn't dare to look at him. His eyes were dark, liquid orbs of midnight, and she didn't trust herself to look at them without melting into a puddle of nerves. She swallowed hard, gathering up her resolve, and turned in her seat to look directly at his dark eyes. She set her teeth and examined him, taking in the high cheekbones, the sharply defined chin, and thick, dark brows arching over his intense eyes. His shoulders were broad, and his arms were folded across his chest, and his long legs were stretched out in front of him, hidden underneath Bennett's desk. When her silver-gray eyes flickered up to meet his black ones, she nearly shivered and ran for the door. There was a cold light in his eyes, a deep, primal sort of intensity that he didn't appear to notice or control. She cleared her throat and buried a handful of her skirt in her shaking fist to keep herself looking at his eyes. "I think the sooner we get it done and over with, the better. Saturday would work for me, around noon." When he still didn't say anything, she swallowed again. "What are your hours like?"

"I'm self-employed, Miss Gother, I make my own hours." He sneered bitingly. His tone suggested he was speaking to a small child, and he looked away dismissively. After a moment of silence, in which Sarah felt a maddeningly hot blush paint her cheeks, he checked his nails. "Saturday will be fine. What am I required to wear?"

"I should think you're capable of picking our your own wardrobe, _sir_," Sarah said icily. He smirked, that cruel sneer turning the corners of his mouth.

"I thought it was traditional for the bride to do all the arranging," He said sarcastically. "After all, it's _your special day._"

"It's more like my execution," Sarah snapped back. "Come at noon. Bring as many people as you like, they shan't be fed. There's a little church near my cottage –"

"No," Severus interrupted. "No, I won't be married in a Muggle ceremony." His tone was sharp and cold, a steel knife stabbed into a snowbank.

For the first time, she allowed a Snape-Smirk of her own to steal over her lips. On her, it looked condescending, and Severus felt a swell of anger in his chest. "What, Professor? Are you afraid that the Mudbloods will give you a disease?" Her smirk was sardonic and cold, and she saw a flash of fire in his eyes as he leaned forward. He did it so smoothly and so abruptly, she actually felt for her wand inside her sleeve, in case he might strike her. There was a deep, vibrant passion in his voice as he snarled:

"_Never_ use that word around me. Are we clear?" He growled, low in his throat, a savage beast ready to strike. He saw some of the icy condescension shake from her eyes, replacing by a bitter, foul layer of fear.

"I thought you were the Pureblood, Professor?" She said, a light layer of faux innocence in her tone. There was something else, a tight, souring anger. "Don't all Purebloods use that word?"

"I am nothing of the kind," Severus snarled. "I am a Half-blood, thank you very much for asking." He took a short, steadying breath, and then his eyes lost the heated flame and withdrew once more into the cold, jeering shield. "We'll meet at the Clerking Office in Diagon Alley. Noon sharp."

"Unacceptable," Sarah said immediately. "My parents will want to be there, to watch me get married."

"We wouldn't want to do anything without your precious mummy and daddy, now would we?" Severus sneered.

"Just because you had a horrible childhood," Sarah said, getting to her feet and her anger flashing in her eyes, "doesn't mean we all did! If you wish to contact me, Owl me. I wish you good day..." Here she turned, and her lip curled as a spark of anger trailed from her eyes and dripped to her lips, "..._dearest._"

_What a brazen little hussy!_

He had half a mind to storm after her and demand an apology for her insult, but thought better of it and stayed to brood. No doubt there would be at least several more months of this _lovely_ arguing, but he could stand it. She didn't know what it was like to argue with him, and she would eventually simmer down. But the echo of her word – _Mudblood – _overlapped with Lily's hurt, broken tone when she said the same word. It screamed at him, grating harshly against his conscious, and he gritted his teeth, pressing a fist to his mouth as he steadied his breathing. She was impudent, she was harsh, but he could taste the fear in the air when that smiling Jack Bennett said _intimacy_.

Damn it all to hell and back, he was scared too.

She was a child – practically, anyway – and he was going to be wedding and bedding a girl of her age? True, she was pretty, but he didn't _want_ to get married, didn't _want_ to have this woman – _child_ – as his wife. He didn't want any woman as his wife, and he didn't want to live with anyone. His uncertainty turned to anger, and he felt his knuckles whiten as he gripped his fingers and made a fist. _She_ didn't know what it was like – she hadn't been in the war, hadn't been peddling secrets like some common whore, hadn't been lying serenely to one side while blackmailing the other. She had been safely in her little cottage, staying at home with her mother and father, gossiping with her friends about the Dark Lord and the handsome Aurors. She was unworried, unblemished – and perhaps that's why he disliked her. She hadn't lost _anything_ in her life, had never known want or hurt. The only heartbreak she had was probably some childhood crush who spurned her efforts, he could see it in her eyes. Because, beneath all of that icy, misty shroud in those silvery orbs, there was that overwhelming naiveté, that innocence peeking secretly out. She had never loved and lost, never had to deal with the crushing, killing, suffocating weight of guilt all these years.

She didn't have the _scars_.

* * *

><p>She dropped her coat to the floor without bothering to pick it up, kicked off her comfortable, sensibly low-heeled shoes and left it all in a pile. Her fingers were tearing at buttons and clasps before she even reached her room, and she shed clothes faster than she would have believed possible. The creaky, drafty wooden floors chilled her feet as she slid her stockings down her leg and left them on the floor, uncharacteristically dumping her clothes on her bed. Her wand clattered to the floor as she dropped it from her sleeve, and she shrugged off her blouse and bra, leaving both items dangling on her metal bedpost. She hurried, naked, through the hallways, past the chilling marble foyers, and finally found the bathroom. She slammed the door behind her, thumbing the lock, and leaned against it, panting and shaking and crying inside. Swallowing bravely, she darted over to the huge porcelain tub and opened the hot-water tap as far as it would go. Small crystal bottles were opened and drizzled into the steaming water, and when thick, fluffy white bubbles began to appear, she stepped inside and lowered herself into the scalding water.<p>

The heat burned her thighs and legs as she sat down, and then sank back into the boiling water, immersing herself. By closing her eyes and sliding under the hot, soapy water, she could hear the continual tumble of water pummeling the foamy waves. She stayed underneath the water until her body could stand it no longer, and then she pushed herself upwards and swallowed long draughts of cool air. Her blonde hair was plastered sleekly to her head, and she reached one dripping arm out for a washcloth and soap. She lathered herself up, scrubbing fiercely until her skin shone red from her ministrations and the heat of the water around her. With every ounce of muscle she had in her, she scrubbed until she could feel the lies being stripped from her soul, the overwhelming, crushing shame being torn off her heart. Her breathing came fast and sharp as she dunked her head under repeatedly, slashing the washcloth down her arms until her fingernails raked the skin.

She let the tears come then, let the sobs fill the whole room until it sounded as though a thousand Sarah's were crying over things long past, things broken and shattered. The tears ran down her already wet cheeks and fell silently into the foamy water, and the lush whisper of suds against skin melted beneath the sound of her cries. Makeup smudged the corners of her eyes when she wiped her face, and she took the washcloth to her cheeks as well, burning the incriminating tears from her eyes. Soap branded her eyes, and the sting of pain felt real, felt solid, away from the blankets of grief which were weighing on her system. The pain was alive and fresh, the grief of losing him tearing horribly at her breast again.

She heard the front doors open, the rattling noises of her parents taking off their overcoats, and before she knew it, there was a businesslike rap at the door. "Sarah? Are you in there?"

There was silence.

"Sarah, I know you're in there, let me in. Come on, it can't be that bad, now can it, love?" The voice of her stepfather was usually so comforting, so relaxing, and she trusted him implicitly. But he couldn't help – he couldn't touch the grief in her heart, hadn't known what to do at the funeral. He had offered his sympathies, cried with her even, but it wasn't the same. He didn't know what it felt like, getting the letter, feeling the smooth silk of the parchment beneath her fingers, seeing the name typed onto the paper. He didn't know what it felt like to see the only person in the world who she truly loved and cared for being buried beneath cold, unforgiving earth. He didn't know what it was like, seeing those laughing blue eyes closed forever in death, the warm arms frozen in silence.

He didn't have the _scars_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Guh...Here you go...**

**Sailor Dreamer95: **Well, it might take a while for them to fall for one another, but I can promise you it will at least be an eventful and bumpy ride!

**Nanami Y: **Forgive me for not spelling your name correctly, but I have such difficulty spelling that I just abbreviated it to save time. xD Thanks for your review, I really loved it! Oh, and you can de-nail yourself from the wall now...

**Shelley Snape: **Yeah, I should have posted more chapters at once, but I just wanted to throw the proverbial dog a bone and see if anyone wanted it. I hope you like this chapter, and stay with the story!

**PirateLuv:**I think I left off a few digits in your name, but ah well. Here's the next chapter, as promised!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This is 'M' rated, right? Right. You're warned. No smut yet – that'll come in chapter 5 or 6 – but some suggestive elements.**

* * *

><p><strong>~-* Chapter Three: A Most Dangerous Game *-~<strong>

* * *

><p>She woke up to the fresh, crisp scent of clean linens filling her nostrils and a painted ray of warm, thick sunlight stroking her face. Her eyes opened slowly, and then she sat up, swinging her legs out of bed. The lace curtains by her window feathered the sunlight to a dull golden glow which alit the room, and she couldn't help a smile. Pushing back the curtains and opening the window, she let a stiff zephyr come in and arouse her senses, bringing in a stream of birdsong which belonged to a red-breasted robin chirruping prettily on the lower branches of an elm near her window. Leaving the window open, she crossed the room and opened her closet, where her clothes were stored in ramrod straight lines – casual robes, Muggle clothing, and her fancy dress robes towards the back. Her shoes, mostly flat-soled, comfortable items which she could wear for long periods of time and did nothing to heighten her short frame, were shined to a high gloss by the aid of magic and set in military neat lines at the bottom of her closet. After a moment, her good mood melted with the dawn, and her silver-gray eyes darkened once more. In a few days, she would be packing everything up and going to live in some <em>other<em> location; and it was the uncertainty which she feared most. If things were expected, ordered, and predestined, she knew what to expect and knew how long she had before she became nervous. But the _uncertainty_ – that was what frightened her, truly. That undisclosed shape lurking in the shadows scared her more than the monster standing in broad daylight.

The clothes she tugged on felt smooth and well-ironed, which they always did, because she seldom went a day without using a cleaning spell on every single one of her clothes. With a frown, she noticed the clothes she had thrown off in such a rush the night before had been picked up, no doubt by her mother, and were probably in the machine right now. Like most Muggle-borns, Sarah didn't mind Muggle appliances and used them frequently. She actually preferred laundering her clothes instead of using a spell, because nothing could quite capture the delicate, familiar smell of fresh air on linens. With a sigh, she picked up her wand and slid it into her hip pocket, the tip pointing downwards, for easy removal. Neglecting her socks and shoes, she went downstairs barefoot and shivered at the contact of warm toes against drafty, creaky old floors.

The Gother's had owned this little country house for several generations, and it hadn't been refurbished in many years, resulting in strong foundations but jamming windows and cold floors. The ceilings were low, for easy dusting, but windows were plentiful to let in sunlight and warmth. In the winter, it was heated by a emphysemic old oil heater in the basement and a squat cast-iron stove in the kitchen, both of which did completely nothing to stave off the bitter chill which permeated the small cottage. The foyer was marble and icy cold, but unsurprisingly mud-resistant, while the rest of the house covered the scuffed wooden floors with thick, dusty rugs. The staircase was a tight, winding steel spiral, completely cheesy, but Sarah loved it fiercely in spite of it's ugliness. As a girl, she had decorated the railings for each holiday, painstakingly winding red and gold streamers around the thin rods for Christmastime, red and white for Valentines, and so on.

In the small, cramped kitchen, a lopsided Formica table stood against the left corner, with a dented white stove and a deep stainless steel sink being the major appliances. A old-fashioned icebox was propped against the northern wall, humming quietly to itself, and the whole room smelled deliciously of coffee and sausages. Her stepfather, a narrow, angular man with stiff gray stubble which never seemed to come off and thinning gray hair was seated at the table, reading the newspaper, dressed in his plaid housecoat and old slippers. Her mother, a round, plump woman with a sweet face and chestnut hair falling in thick waves to her waist, was frying a delectable smelling pan of eggs, her apron knotted securely around her back. Both adults turned when their daughter walked into the room, and her mother was the first to welcome her in a hug. "Oh, Sarah," She said softly, hugging her youngest daughter. Despite the shortness of her mother, Sarah was still dwarfed, petite and slender as she was.

Her father hugged her next, and despite his rail-thin stature and bony angles, she yearned for his embrace more than her mother. Over the years, he had at least tried to help her heal her scars, a gesture which went appreciated but unused by the quiet Sarah. He smelled sharply of Old Spice and basil, most likely from his wife's cooking. After a moment, Sarah sat, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve, assuming her usual prim seating with her chin tilted upwards. "Can't you do anything about it, Lovey?" He asked, using his pet name for his stepdaughter. There was a gentle thump as her mother set down a plate full of scrambled eggs and sizzling sausages in front of her, but despite how delicious it looked, Sarah wasn't hungry.

"No, Dad," She said quietly. "It's been appealed already, and they said they'll appeal again as soon as they think of a new angle. But with the way politics are moving, it'll probably be six to seven months before anything happens."

"Politicians," Her mother said angrily, jabbing her spatula into the frying pan. "They all ought to be shot."

"Now, Cecelia," Her father said soothingly. "I'm sure it isn't that bad. What's the chap like, Lovey? You met him yesterday, right?"

"Yes," She said tightly, and took a decisive bite of her eggs to avoid answering further. But after she had chewed and swallowed, her father was still looking at her. Her mother was still puttering around in the kitchen, banging pots and pans. She took a breath and scrunched her napkin in her fist, patting her lips jerkily. "I know him. He's my old professor." She said.

"Well, that's got to be good," Her father said encouragingly. "That you know him, and that he's an older man."

"_How_ much older is he?" Her mother asked with a cold, wintery snap in her voice which was so similar to her daughter's icy tones. Sarah rumpled her short cropped blonde hair and did some mental calculating.

"Twelve years," She said eventually. The sound of her mother dropping her spatula in the kitchen was explosive in the silence which followed.

"That's outrageous!" Her mother said angrily, tearing off her apron and throwing it on the chair. "They can't be marrying my little girl off to some, some _elderly man_!" Two spots of red were appearing on her cheeks like actors in a performance.

"Now, Cecelia," Her father said again. "He's only thirty seven, it isn't much older. And besides, it might be better for our little Lovey to be married off to a..." Here he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "...a more, eh, _experienced_ man."

There was a tapping noise on the window which interrupted Sarah's shocked and highly offended train of thought. Who was her father to talk of experience, right in front of her? She was no child, but things of..._that sort_...were best left unspoken in her house. The whole 'birds-and-the-bees' talk had been ignored until the much-longed for age of sixteen, where her mother had uncomfortably brought up "Things of that sort". The entire conversation had lasted less than three minutes, with both of the women blushing to the roots of their hair. Sarah got up and threw open the window, allowing a sleek gray owl to flutter in. After almost fifteen years of having this happen, her father had actually built a designated owl perch by the washboard for easy letter-and-paper removal. The dignified fray owl, those luminescent yellow eyes glaring at her haughtily, extended it's leg and proceeded to look as disdainful as an owl can look with their limited facial muscles. Sarah pulled off the letter and read the spidery, elegant black script on the front, which said _Sarah Gother_ in spiky lettering. The seal on the back was plain sealing wax, with no insignia, and she broke it as she opened the letter. In the same sketching format, read the words:

_Three Broomsticks. Noon._

Three words. Her future husband had graced her with three words.

A slow, controlled burning began in the pit of her stomach, and a bite of bile rose in the back of her throat. She realized, for the first time in a very long time, that she was absolutely _furious_. Who was he to think she would just come when he called, like she was a hound to be whistled for, a house-elf to be beckoned? The whole thing – the arranged marriage, the irony of her future husband, the terse note, was infuriating her. She stood, patted her mouth wit her napkin, and nodded at her parents. Her mother had seen this sort of frozen light in those icy eyes once before – when a Gryffindor boy had shirked her advances and called her some appalling names several years ago, when she had been in school. The boy had been found dangling from one of the parapets, painted heavily with makeup and dressed in a women's girdle and nothing else. Sarah, of course, had denied any connection to the incident, but the girl had never mentioned the boy again and actually seemed quite pleased about it from then on.

Her father could only hope he didn't read in _The Daily Prophet_ about a man being dangled from the Big Ben dressed in unflattering clothing.

* * *

><p>He lounged in the back, his dark clothing blending him in with the shadows, shirking away from the bright, glaring swatches of light which shone from the lanterns on the walls. It was very early for anyone to be drinking, but already the tavern was half-filled with people either celebrating their good fortune or drowning their woes. It was generally the latter, he noticed with a sneer, and turned his attention to the tumbler of firewhiskey in front of him. He told himself it was strictly to settle his nerves, but he found<br>himself leaving it untouched. He didn't want the smell of whiskey on his breath when he met her – speaking of which, the woman was devilishly late. Quarter past twelve had slipped past despite his time-freezing stare, and the magical clock was ticking steadily closer to twelve thirty. He grumbled a curse under his breath and stretched his long legs out in front of him, staring fixedly at the doorway, willing her to appear through the shrouding haze of smoke and murmurs. They say that if you speak the devil's name, he is sure to appear. This was true at that moment, for just when he felt as though his temper were shredded past believability, he heard the overly-cheerful bell jingle merrily and his fiancée walk into the room. He had been leaning back in his chair when she arrived, and he almost toppled backwards when he caught sight of her, but righted himself at the last possible second. His blood thundered in his ears.

The frigid, icy woman who had looked so frozenly terrified yesterday had melted, hidden behind artful dabs of makeup and a set of woman's dress robes which could not have come from the respectable establishment of Madame Malkin's. Her blonde hair had been spiked with some sort of charm, and her silver-green eyes were painted with dark eyeliner and thick mascara. Her emerald green dress robes hung to mid-thigh, belted at the waist with a narrow rhinestone belt. Silver bangles hung on her slender wrists, and her lips were tinted to a dark, utterly kissable red. White tights and black high heels – she had to Transfigure a pair of her shoes, because she didn't actually own a pair of high heels, but he didn't have to know that – clung to her short, slender legs. He noticed she didn't have much of a waist; she seemed to melt straight from her breasts to her round hips.

In short, she looked like an expensive whore.

She sat down in front of him, tossing her spiked blonde hair smilingly, and put her dainty black purse next to her foot. The bag – a stark contrast to the hulking black pack she had lugged around yesterday – awoke him from his stupor. "Merlin, what the devil do you think you are doing?" He hissed at her, leaning forward and cutting his eyes at the patrons of the bar. Most of them were gawking at him – Severus Snape attracting _that_? He must have paid handsomely – and his voice dropped lower. "What are you playing at, coming here dressed like that?"

"Dressed like what?" She asked, opening her painted eyes with faux innocence. Her small fingers darted into her pocket and withdrew a small, crystal bottle of perfume. She spritzed herself liberally with the scent, some peachy, fruity smell which he instantly disliked, and smiled at him. That smile would have been pretty had her silver eyes not been so completely and utterly frozen. "I dress like this all the time. I think you ought to get used to it, _darling_." She smirked at him.

That word jolted him to his senses. She was acting, as effectively as an actress on stage. She knew that members of the Order of Phoenix would be trailed by the media, unwilling photos snapped and long, gossipy articles tugged from the most innocent of gestures. She wanted to look beautiful and madly in love with him, so he would have to look the same way, or be written off as a cruel, callous man. She could even declare, five or six weeks down the road, that he had struck her, or was abusing her, or forcing her to do something heinous. Oh, she had him by the balls with this outfit, but if she wanted to play with fire, he would make sure she got burned.

She wanted to play like that?

Hmph. Two could play at that game.

His dark brows rose, and his voice dropped to a low, purring, sultry sound which came from a panther or some jungle beast. "_Indeed_," He said. He bent slightly and withdrew a thin sheaf of paper and lay it flat on the scarred tabletop. For the first time, she noticed his hands – wide palms, criss-crossed with scars on the back, calloused on the bottom from making his potions, but with long, white, beautiful fingers. He tapped the parchment with a nail and smirked at her. "I think we should add a note about that in our agreement, shouldn't we,_ love_?" He said, the last word filled with bitter sarcasm. Her eyebrows arched as she scanned the first few lines, and then looked up at him in slight confusion and annoyance.

"You really think we need a document outlining rules for our marriage?" She said scornfully. "A bit unorthodox, don't you think?"

That smirk tilted his lips to the side, his full bottom lip twisting against his narrower top one, and those black eyes filled with something like seducing anger. "I think you'll find I'm a rather..._unorthodox..._man, Miss Gother. Now, if you'll give it you're full attention, please." He gestured to the parchment with his long fingers.

She read it through once, and then flipped back to the second page. She flattened it on the table and sneered at him. "You really think you want to put in something concerning intercourse? My, Professor, you're a very bold man."

"On the contrary to your snide tone, Miss Gother, I think it perfectly necessary," He growled. "The Ministry, as you well know, will be monitoring us, and I say we give them as little as possible. Four times monthly is required, so I suggest Friday evenings – if that is mutually agreeable," He said with a mocking tilt to his head. His onyx eyes smirked triumphantly at her. _I know something you don't know_, those eyes sneered at her._ You don't know what it is, do you, to actually _do it_? You don't know how it _feels_ – oh, you might know all the textbook answers, but when it comes to the skin and the sweat and the sheets, you know _nothing_. _

The flirtatious body language faltered for a moment, and her innocence shone through in those silver eyes. And then they were once more icy pools of slush, staring at him icily, a mask conjured as easily and quickly as though by magic. "Well, I suppose I'll leave that to my _experienced_ husband," She said, and flipped another page. "Outlining your work schedule? Really, Professor, you shouldn't have." She said, and sarcasm dripped from her tone. "How very thoughtful. But at any rate, you put nothing in this _document_ which alludes to our wedding."

"Yes. I thought you could do the arranging, provided it's a wizarding ceremony," Severus said. She blinked once and then swallowed. "What? I expected a brawl concerning the ceremony. After all, you were so adamant about it yesterday."

"I don't think my parents want to see me get married, so it shouldn't be a problem," She said coldly. He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? And why is that?" He asked. She pierced him with those  
>wintery gray spheres.<p>

"Because my mother is less than thrilled about me marrying a man twelve years older than I am," She said tightly. "And I don't blame them in the slightest. So you'll get your quick marriage at the Clerking Office after all. The least you can do is be on time."

The words stung and cut him far deeper than she knew. He didn't like being reminded of his age, didn't like being reminded of the difference between them. He had tossed and turned all night thinking about it, and now she had just torn the scab off the wound with the coolness of an iceberg. "Very well then," He said crisply. "And it's acceptable to be moving into my flat above my shop, then?"

"Considering I don't suppose you want to move in with my parents, yes, it is." Sarah said. She snatched the list off the table and stuffed it into her purse, rising and looking at her future husband coldly. "Ten o'clock at the Clerking Office on Wednesday. Wear something nice. I'll have my things ready by eleven." And then the charm was back, that sly little minx who had waltzed in here, and she bent – giving him a ringside view of her cleavage – and kissed his cheek. The connection burned like a hot ember, and he resisted the urge to snarl something at her. "See you then, _darling."_

She left, her hips swaying lightly, and he fisted the tablecloth in his hands. She was treading on thin ice, and she didn't know it. She was playing a very dangerous game.

But he was a dangerous man.

And he hated to lose.

* * *

><p><strong>Nanami Y: <strong>Once again, you'll have to forgive me for not completely spelling your name. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. I was a bit uncertain about the emotions, but go ahead and tell me what you think.

**Sailor Dreamer95: **Severus doesn't often underestimate things, but I think he's underestimating his own wife-to-be. It will be very interesting indeed when that dramatic chapter comes when the scars can't be hidden any longer. By the way, what person in her life do you think Sarah lost? xD

**ShelleySnape: **Thank you so much! It's reviews like this one that make my day. Hopefully, Sarah's character will deepen as the story progresses, but hang with me for now. It'll get better, I promise.

**DragonQuill6931: **Oh, I'm glad you like it! Tell me what you think!

**butterflyninja95: **That last chapter in WBWSWW is dedicated to you, by the way. Not publically, but I thought of you when I wrote it. Be sure to pop me a PM or a review to give me a kick in the pants when I've been neglecting my stories, okay? Oh, and you might want to skirt away from this story...I'm not sure how old you are...


	4. Chapter 4

**~-* Chapter Four: Man And Wife *-~**

* * *

><p>He never dreamed pleasantly – his dreams were tangled, horrible things full of deep shadows and tearful green eyes. He never remembered Lilly laughing, smiling, touching his hair, in his dreams – just looking at him hatefully, her chest heaving with pain. He never remembered her musical, beautiful laugh, just the way she killed him every time she held James's hand. And he would wake up, sweating, hot, dry draughts of air scorching his throat and the unshed tears searing his chest. But today, there had been no dreams – he had made sure of that. A Dreamless Sleep Potion had taken care of his memories the night before, a quick mix that had shorn off any remnants of Lilly. He sat up in bed, the sheets tangled around his legs, and kneaded his eyes with his hands, slapping the sleep out of his face. Waking slowly was a luxury he hadn't attained for the past three decades; it was always a quick, bitter start which woke him, had his fingers grabbing for his wand, ready to duel. And now his training had him glued to this lifestyle, so he always woke with his heart hammering and his hand reaching for the pillow.<p>

A quick search through his closet resulted in nothing – black trousers, black vests, black coats. He always wore black. But way in the back, there was a white dress shirt he only wore when forced, and with a gritting of his teeth, he pulled it off the hanger. Grumbling to himself, he buttoned it, snatching a pair of trousers off the shelf, and tucking the tail in. He was getting _married_ – married! Him! Severus Snape! He had wrestled with himself for three days, and then finally began slowly rearranging his apartment. The flat above his potion shop was cramped and the ceilings were slanted, giving everything a claustrophobic feeling, but he still managed to shuffle around his sparse belongings. He didn't travel often, but he didn't own much anyway. He had Conjured two extra pillows and dug up a spare set of silverware, however, to be polite. Running his hands through his hair, Severus yanked on a black vest and looked at himself in the mirror.

He wasn't handsome. He knew that – years of whoring himself to both sides, to spilling lies from his lips, to murdering in cold blood, torturing occasionally – it had all aged him. No gray flecked his dark hair, but the lines around his eyes were deeper than a man should have for his age. His nose seemed to grow larger every day, more hooked, and his skin always seemed to be pale, no matter how much sun he got. When he was waxing poetic and feeling ironic, he wondered about the mirror image of himself. Was his twin cheerful and funny, bright and witty, while he was dour and sarcastic, bitter and cruel? But he usually dismissed these feelings to sentiment and dispelled them easily. Growling to himself, he finished buttoning his vest and slipped his wand into his sleeve.

The idea of getting married made him frustrated and slightly frightened, if he were truly honest. His life was his work, and his work was his life – he barely made enough time to eat and sleep. Churning out potions in a never ending assembly line dampened his senses, dulled the sharp swords of his past which still cut against him whenever he saw green eyes. He didn't want to drag another person – another _woman_, no less – into his life. He didn't want to work with anyone, didn't want to get married, for Merlin's sake. Although, he admitted, she was sharp. Quick, too, with that damned outfit. She had outsmarted him at the Three Broomsticks, that was certain; and Severus wasn't outsmarted easily. He had underestimated her, and he _never_ underestimated things. If anything, he overestimated them. Overkill was underrated, in his opinion, but everything about this Sarah Gother threw him.

She was cold and innocent, that much was certain. The most confusing combination ever to meet in a small, blonde woman, he mused. Ashamed of her innocence, she clutched it to her breast and created up an icy mask to cover herself. It was a talent not many possessed, he decided, a talent which could be honed into a very particular skill that would be valuable to the right person. She still lived with her parents, the stupid woman. He reflected back to her paper, and then tried to remember her occupation. A writer of some sort. Ah, yes, a columnist for the _Daily Prophet_. Probably the author of some trash gossip column, something like _Ask The Housewitch_ or something along those lines. But he was tired of thinking about her; it was bad enough he was going to be married to her for the foreseeable future. He had spent almost the entire week nagging himself about her, running over her actions in his mind, and he was sick of it. Sick of her.

He gripped his wand between his fingers and focused on where he wanted to go. There was a loud crack, and he disappeared.

* * *

><p>She was waiting for him outside of the Clerking Office, dressed in an outfit which seemed relatively normal. It was nothing like the attention getting green dress she had worn so famously, but it was tasteful and accomplished. A crisp white dress shirt was hanging in loose, cool folds, untucked at her waist, and a crimson vest had been buttoned across her chest. Surprisingly, she was wearing a pair of dark trousers – considering he had only seen her in a skirt and a dress, he figured her wardrobe was nothing if not wide. She had her back to him, and he saw her short-cropped blonde hair was once more smooth and sleek instead of spiked and windblown. She was digging for something in her purse, which was – once again – the large black bag which she had clutched so possessively the first time he had met her. Her glasses were different – they had thicker lenses, giving her a bookish, slightly off-putting look. When he approached her, clearing his throat coldly, she turned, and he saw her icy silver eyes had taken on the exact color of thawed snow and had the warmth of an iceberg in the artic. He arched an eyebrow and felt a sneer curve his lips. "I see you've dispensed with the call-girl outfit," He noted, and her wintery eyes dropped another ten degrees.<p>

"My mother wanted me to wear something less feminine," She responded icily. "And if you're quite finished with insulting me, we can get this over with."

"Oh? What happened to 'darling'?" Severus mocked, opening the door for her automatically. She shot him a wary look, and he realized what he was doing after the fact was done. She marched through the open door with her nose in the air, as if men were actually chivalrous and opened doors for her every day.

"That was for show. I highly doubt there are any reporters trailing me at the moment, seeing as it's Wednesday and they're just leaving their offices at this hour." She retorted. The two of them closed the door behind them, and blinked as they paused in their bickering, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the dim gloom.

After years of skulking around in shadows, Severus's eyesight was a good deal sharper than hers, and when the long, elastic shadows settled, he was able to see the mounds of clutter. There were stacks of papers on the floors, some of them clean and new, others yellowed with age. Scrolls of parchment were stuffed into cubbyholes behind the thin, ancient desk, and the floors were so worn they were almost gray. An old man, his face heavily lined and covered in gray stubble, was seated behind the desk, a quill in hand, looking at them expectantly. A dim yellow glow from a light above his head created a circle of faded illumination, and the shadows grinned wolfishly from the unlit corners. To his left was a short, unsmiling man with chestnut hair and shifty eyes, dark smudges beneath them. He wore blue Ministry robes, with a small brass pin lettered with MC. He rubbed his temples and then made a check mark on his page; afterwards, he leaned back in his chair and prepared for a nap. "Ah, yes, Miss Gother," The older man said, his voice as creaky and dusty as the chair he was sitting on. "We've been expecting you."

"Thank you, Mr. Doppler," Sarah said tightly, and she drew unexpectedly closer to Severus. It was an unconscious gesture, one which went unnoticed by Sarah but observed sharply by Severus. He smirked. She was uncomfortable in foreign situations. That was nice to know. "Are you ready to begin the ceremony?" She asked, her voice slightly thinner and higher than usual.

"Of course, of course," He said wheezily, and flicked a knotted gray wand which looked like his floors. A dusty scroll floated off the shelves and fell tiredly to his desk top, unrolling wearily as it did so. Severus and Sarah came closer, and Mr. Doppler passed over the quill. "Sign your full name here, please," He said, and Sarah scrawled a quick _Sarah Anne Gother_ across the line, then passed it to Severus, who added a terse, spiky _Severus Tobias Snape_ beneath it. "And now, join hands, please, for the next part of the ceremony," The old man rasped.

There was a short, doubtful look passed between the two of them, and then Severus offered his hand, palm up, with an expression of distaste. She lay her hand on top of his and the two somehow managed to hold hands with the barest minimum of skin touching. But despite all this, she could help but notice that he has such long, agile fingers, clean to the quick despite his constant usage of staining potion ingredients. And Severus noticed that her fingers were stained with ink in at least six different places, and she had a slight callous on the inside of her left index finger, most likely from gripping a quill. Their observances were radically different – hers for aesthetic value, his for probing into her life – but somehow, they were both so distracted they didn't notice the golden thread winding between their fingers. Severus noticed it first, and he gave a barely perceptible start which caused Sarah to look down as well, and she swallowed a lump down her throat. The Ministry Official was looking at them very curiously, his curly hair falling into his eyes and shrouding out the emotion in them.

"And now, you will kiss the bride," The old man intoned solemnly, looking at them quite seriously beneath his bushy brows. Sarah made a little noise of question in the back of her throat, and Severus raised his eyebrows.

"Is that _really_ necessary?" Severus growled, his body tensing at the idea of such contact.

"Yes! It is necessary for the completion of the incantation!" Mr. Doppler said, quite agitated Ministry Official rumpled his hair and spoke for the first time, sounding languid and sleepy.

"Really, you two, it's just a kiss. Get it over with." He said lazily. Severus and Sarah exchanges another glance, and Severus saw Sarah was just as displeased about this as he was. She also seemed – frightened? Yes, scared. Of him. _Perfect_, he thought savagely, _Just bloody perfect._

She got tired of his indecision, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. It was quick, chaste, and he barely had time to realize what she was doing before she did it. And as he lips met his in the briefest – and possibly the most annoyed – kiss in existence, the golden threads around their hands glowed white hot. There was a shower of sparks, and then they broke apart, rubbing their hands and wrists. Sarah shot him a very dirty look as though it were all his fault, and Severus gave an equally irked glare to her for kissing him. This was not going to be a very happy marriage, he realized dully, and looked at the Ministry Official. "May we leave yet?" He asked impatiently, and the Ministry Official checked over his notes.

"Ah, one more thing," The man said, and shuffled around in his pocket for a moment. "Professor Snape, will you put this on her finger? It has to be you, otherwise the charm won't work," The Official said, offering a small, sleek, modern gold band with a slight twist in the middle. With an unpleasant twist in his lips not unlike the one of the ring, he reluctantly took her hand in his and slid the ring onto her finger. "Excellent. Now, because it's come to our attention that the Professor can't wear his ring on his finger at all times, he's required to wear this chain." The man said, handing her a slightly thicker, smoother ring on a long chain. She stood on tiptoe again just so she could put the chain around his neck, and Severus inclined his head slightly to aid her. She shot him a cold look, but either by design or accident, the heels of her hands brushed his long hair. She gave him an unfathomable look, and then turned to the chestnut haired Official. "I believe that's all," The Official said, bored. "I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Snape."

There was a slight rippling shimmer, rather like an electric shock – but Severus couldn't know that – which traveled up their bodies from their rings. Sarah shuddered, running the lines of her nails down her arm to scratch the itch, but she noticed Severus made no move. _He's trained to handle discomfort_, she realized with growing nausea. _And pain. I'm going to be sharing a bed with a man who has an exceptionally high tolerance for pain? Oh, brother. _

"Now, if you attempt to remove these rings in any manner, the Ministry will know right away and you'll be summoned to the Ministry for a hearing. The rings will then be permanently attached to your fingers, but at the moment, we're willing to give you the benefit of the doubt," The man said with a tight smile. "These rings also render any Charm, Curse, or Potion which would halt the process of coitus in any fashion, and they will also deactivate any potions which would keep the female in an infertile state."

This entire speech was delivered blandly and distastefully, with Sarah's jaw dropping a little lower with each word. Severus felt her shock and fear, saw her fright in the hard line of her shoulders, and almost wished he could comfort her. She wanted a career, and he wanted a lift. This law was unjust, animalistic, and bestial. He was sure it would be repealed, but not in two days. Because in two days, it would be Friday, and he had _no fucking idea_ what he was going to do when Friday night rolled around.

His thoughts were interrupted by Sarah turning on her heel abruptly and heading for the door. She tried to slam it behind her, but his foot got in the way, and he slipped through the crack, following her. Her hands were stuffed into her pockets, and she was walking very fast up the street with no particular destination in mind. Her cheeks were dry but her silver eyes were wet, and when he caught up with her, she was snarling an absolutely unprintable list of the filthiest obscenities he had heard in his life. When she reached the corner, near Flourish and Blotts, she turned on him suddenly. "That was _fucking rubbish_!" She seethed.

"I know." He said simply.

That shut her up, at least for the time being. Having someone agree with her, even an older man she would be forced to sleep with in forty eight hours time, calmed her slightly. She looked up at him, and then folded her arms. "I have my things in my bag. Where's your flat?"

Wordlessly, he took her elbow in his hand and Disapparated with a crack.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I am back from VK. Enjoy this chapter, sorry for the messy emotions and slight profanity. But this is an M rated fic. What you see is what you get.**

**Sailor Dreamer95: **Fairly close assumption! And yes, when Sarah gets mad, she gets _mad_. Luckily, she doesn't get mad often, otherwise there would be an awful lot of people hanging from places in women's underwear...

**0oBelllianna0o: **Actually, I feel that this fiction is garnering quite a bit of attention! I'm really pleased with all the reviews I'm getting, but, as always, I keep asking for them! I'm glad you like Sarah's character, she's extremely fun to write. Almost as fun as writing Severus, really – they're so similar, it's a little eerie. But that's the whole point of the story: people who should be perfect for each other on paper might not be so perfect for each other in real life. Well, I hope you continue to read this story, and I hope you continue to enjoy it!

**DragonQuill6913: **Lol! Suspenseful, funny. I don't see it as suspenseful, but then again, I know how the story is going to end. And you don't. (Wee bit of gloating here). And as for who will explode first, who do you think? xD Severus, or Sarah?

**butterflyninja935: **Gack! Why are you sniffing around my M rated fanfiction then, eh? Mature middle schooler indeed...You're about the same age as my daughter Alex, and if I knew she was reading my smut stories, oooh, she'd be in for a whuppin'. Stay on Fellowship of the Authors and Well Behaved Women, okay, hon? Don't go snooping around here yet. Wait about...ten years. No, wait. Twenty. xD

**ShelleySnape: **Oddly enough, I adored those last three lines as well. They were the most fun thing to write, and seemed so fitting for Severus. And yes, I peeked at your story – it seems good, but you could add more description. Also, I think the first chapter could be slightly restructured – dumping all of that info on the reader in the first chapter about Clara's past could afford to be branched out over time. Just my thoughts. I've been called senile before, so don't worry. xD Also, I love your portrayal of Severus – he's _spot on,_ something I'm sort of missing out on in this fiction. I think I need to go read more good Sev/OC stories to keep me hitting the target.

**R Unworldly: **Glad. You. Do! xD


	5. Chapter 5

**~-*Chapter Five: Moving In*-~**

* * *

><p>She didn't have a lot of girly bits, he thought to himself as she stood in the middle of his flat. The things she began unloading out of her clunky black bag were practical and simple. He didn't see any frills or pink lace or ribbons; come to think of it, all of those things would have seemed starkly out of place on her. He felt slightly defensive of his apartment – after all, she was coming from a nice cottage in the country and he was living in a cramped flat above a potion shop. Luckily, she didn't curl her lip or make a snide comment, as he had half-expected her to do. Instead, she merely tightened her lips and looked about the sparsely decorated rooms, arching an eyebrow when she saw the cheap, thin walls which partitioned the bedroom away from the sitting roomkitchen. Her small, slender fingers unbuttoned the top of her cloak slowly, steely silver eyes flicking around the bare walls and creaky wooden floors. "Charming," She said mildly, and set to work unpacking her things. Her hands disappeared in the small bag and took out a stack of freshly laundered linens, which contained a whiff of crisp air and cool breezes in their threads. It brought back a nostalgic memory – one of the very, very few – which reminded Severus of hanging out washing with his mum.

The linens were followed by a neatly folded pile of clothes, which, he was relieved to see, none of which had glitter or sequins. He decided that her outrageous garb at the Three Broomsticks had been a purely public display, but was still on the lookout for anything see-through or skin tight. The linens were shoved in his arms with a brusque question. "Where do you keep these?"

_On the bed_, Severus almost said, but decided against it at the last moment. "In the closet, top shelf," He answered, just as coldly. He opened the narrow, squeaky-hinged closet door and stacked the sheets on the top shelf. With a flick of her wand and a wordless Charm, her clothes sprang to attention and hung themselves on the hangers she presented. Severus arched an eyebrow at the display of magic, but noticed the furrow between her brows and the darkening of her silver eyes. It had been a strain – the little witch wasn't as magically powerful as she wanted to appear. He wondered idly what House she had been in – some of her preening and quick tongue seemed quite Slytherin, but he hadn't actually heard of a Muggle-Born in his House. Her clothes were pressed and starched, almost to the point of ridiculousness. She liked appearances, and she knew her short body and round curves presented a strange package, and therefore wished to look as businesslike as possible. Her accessories were woefully small – a charm bracelet, dozens of little beads rattling around the chain, each one sparkling and humming slightly, and a set of gold stud earrings. He noticed only then that her ears were pierced. And then, after that, she started taking out the books.

He felt his brow going higher and higher at the titles which she took out. _What To Do With Explosive Potions And How To Drink Them. 1,001 Magical Herbs and Fungi – Extended Edition! Charms, Charms, and Curses. _And on and on. There were several cookbooks, and one dusty old scrapbook which looked cursed, but mostly, they were dry, tasteless textbooks. "Have you honestly read all of these? Merlin, woman, you must have spent your life with your nose in a book." Severus sneered. She looked at him, affronted, a pink tinge spiking her cheeks.

"Not all of them. But these are all of the magical books in my house. My parents didn't want them hanging about." She answered tightly. "And I'll thank _you_ not to touch that!" She added, snatching the scrapbook from his arms. "That doesn't belong to you, and I strongly suggest you keep your big nose out of my things."

Severus went hot, then cold, but his voice was calm and low. "Manners, Mrs. Snape."

She looked at him, almost dropping the scrapbook. "Pardon?"

"I told you to watch your tongue. You are my wife, after all, and if I want to look through every damn page of that book, I shall." He growled, and he was pleased to see her mask crack slightly. For a fleeting instant, he saw the youth in her eyes, and then her eyes went cold. Cold and sharp, a baited trap.

"Only on paper, _Professor_," She growled back, trying to sound as menacing as possible. She didn't like the tone in his voice – possessive, overbearing, _dominant._ "I remain a free woman in spirit, and if you attempt to look through my things I'll hex you so hard your grandchildren will be spotted."

"_Our_ grandchildren," He reminded her, a smirk twitching his lips.

"Fat chance," She sneered, curling her lip. "What are you playing at, Professor? I don't want children, and neither do you."

"I find it amusing that we've been married for a total of twenty minutes and you already think you know what I want." Severus said, his voice silky and quiet. She would later learn that he never shouted – when he was angry, his voice went soft, a velvet snake gliding through the night, and it was _then_ that he was dangerous. And he wasn't lying – he did find it amusing. She could see it in his face. "What I _do_ want, Mrs. Snape, is a happy marriage. I'll have you listen to a few rules.

"One: You are not to go into my lab. It's in the basement of this building, and even if you attempted to enter, you would be cursed into oblivion. Second: You aren't to go running off to the media if we have a dispute. Our spats shall be just that – _our_ spats. Third: No animals. That's final."

She just stood there, her cheeks very red, and she almost looked as though she wanted to hit him, or perhaps cry, or both. Then, very carefully, she reached into the pocket of her skirt and withdrew a folded piece of paper. "Do you mind repeating that, Professor?" She said in a determined voice. "I want to add it to our Marriage Contract. I've added a few rules of my own, and I think they'll be mutually agreeable."

Damn, he had almost forgotten she had that. She tapped it twice with her wand, watched the letters rearrange themselves, and then peered at it through her glasses. "Now, Professor, I believe I'll leave you with this and take my retirement." She said, and her voice sounded a little tight. He would later learn she sounded like that right before she cried, which was far more often than she let on.

Instead of running to the bedroom and slamming the door, she composed herself and walked sedately downstairs. There was a chirp, which was the signal for the door opening, and then silence. He swore quietly under his breath and went to the window, watching her, debating whether or not to go after her. She didn't go far – just across the street to a small sweet shop. Despite their mild argument, his calculating mind still picked up facts. She ate when she was upset, which explained the packing around her hips and arms, and she didn't like to argue. Which was relieving – he didn't like arguing with women. He never had, and probably never would.

He ran his hands through his hair and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a long forefinger. He went over to her bag and began unpacking her things. To hell with what she said, he would unpack and see if he could glean a little more from her belongings. To his disappointment, her belongings were subdued and almost boring – an enchanted diary bound in red leather, several quills (one scented) in an attractive case, and a few nice bottles of plain black ink. The only daring thing he could find was a pair of stockings – seamed, up the back, and he quirked a brow. He found a nice purple angora sweater which would probably look very nice on her, but had been crumpled and shoved into a far corner. He sniffed it gingerly, and his sharp nose picked up a faint scent of perfume, something light and floral. Not cheap, but not particularly expensive either. In a moment, he found a bottle of it, right next to the maddening perfume which had driven him crazy at the Three Broomsticks. Both were stuffed back into the simply case from which they came from.

It was then that he found something _very _interesting.

A red velvet case, the kind jewelry came in, was tucked away in an inside pocket of the bag. Withdrawing it, he found a silver chain with a small green snake on the V. It had never been worn – it was still untouched, as far as he could tell, and it had a bright, shining newness to it which older jewelry didn't have. Scribbled on a tiny yellowed notecard were the words – _Sare-Bear, hope this will remind you of your very favorite Slytherin. Love, Mum. P.S. Has he asked you yet? _It was a cryptic message, but Severus's quick mind figured it out.

She had been in a relationship, and it had been fairly serious. Her mother had expected him to propose. He had also been a Slytherin. And her mother had a stupid nickname for her. Severus heard a low chirp, and he slid the necklace back where it had come from. When he looked up, he saw a moderately contained Sarah standing at the foot of the stairs. She had a small striped bag of sweets in her left hand, and her cool gray eyes flickered around the room. "I thought I told you to stay out of my things," She snapped.

"My apologies, _Sare-Bear_," Severus mocked. She wheeled around, her eyes frightened and her mask forgotten.

"You found...? You bastard!" She yelped, her breast heaving. "I told you – that was private! How dare you! Stay out of my things!"

He didn't even flinch, the bastard.

"'Your very favorite Slytherin?'" He quoted. "And who would that be, Mrs. Snape?"

Her jaw locked. "That would be my brother, Quinn. He was in Slytherin. I was in Hufflepuff. Are you quite finished, Professor?"

"Not yet. What was he going to ask you?"

She flushed. "He was going to ask me to come with him on a tour of the States. I always wanted to go." She sounded feral, wild. Her fists were tight. "Are you happy now, Professor? Or are there any other personal questions you wish to ask."

"Actually yes," He drawled. "What kind of contraceptive potion do you use?"

Her jaw dropped.

"I'm sorry – what?" She spluttered.

"Come now. We're both adults. I need to know what kind you use – it's doubtlessly reduced to nothing by that abominable ring. What are your levels? Your tolerances?" He asked, sounding for a moment as he would with a customer. She flushed absolutely scarlet, and he smiled internally. Oh, for all her poise and primness, she couldn't _stand_ talking about anything personal, could she? No doubt it was how she had been raised.

"My levels would be low, seeing as I'm rather short," She said, effectively too embarrassed to be angry any more. She could hardly get the words out. "And I would think I'm a standard recipe – just the prescription kind, the sort you can get at a check up. I've actually never, ah, taken one."

"Never?" He said mockingly, pretending to sound disappointed. "Very well. I have an old recipe that will be useful – I am a Potion's Master, after all. It'll taste funny the first time, but you'll get used to it." He moved to leave the room, and then turned. "And you were quite right, Mrs. Snape – I do not want children. At all. Ever."

He swept from the room, heading for his lab to brew and think.

* * *

><p>She found his bathroom on the second try. The upstairs attic flat was larger than it had first appeared – there were a lot of little rooms all stuck together like sugar cubes. The bathroom was cozy, as was the rest of the house, but it had a gloriously deep claw-foot tub. One of the things she loved were baths – she spent most of her time in the bathroom, mixing oils and bubbles together, reading and thinking. She used to drag an old radio into the bathroom and spend all day there, until she was soaked and wrinkled and happy. But today she needed to think – and take an icy bath to calm the flush from her face. She fiddled with the knobs for a moment, seeing as the taps were unmarked, and she tested the temperature with the back of her wrist. When it was as cold as her eyes, she stripped and slid in, goose pimples popping all over her small body. Her teeth chattered, but <em>oh<em> it was cold and _perfect_. She hugged her knees, and then let her arms drift. Her blush was calming down, and she could think rationally again.

_Contraceptive potion_.

She had never had need of one. _Things of that sort_ were best left for ... well, other people. Married couples. Which she was, come to think of it. She had been so prudish at school that the other girls in Hufflepuff had delighted in teasing her. They were all giggly and flirty and had tried to put lipstick on her, but she had refused them all and instead hid in a corner with her romance novels. On her Sorting, she remembered quite distinctly the wheezy, slinky voice in her ear. _Mmm. Not much courage, eh? Plenty of room to grow..._ She had been cheerful then, shy with other people but easy to get to know. Simple, they all called her. But Sarah had reluctantly begun shaving her legs on the eve of her sixteenth birthday, and had kissed a boy no less than a week later. Having experienced both, she decided she never wanted to do either of them again. She did, of course, but she remembered how upset she had been after bidding a Gryffindor boy a terse good night. But she had grown past that, past the point of a blushing sixteen year old. She was _twenty five years old_, for Merlin's sake! And now she was living with a man twelve years older than she.

And there was no doubt he was handsome.

Her mind randomly changed paths as she followed this thought down to it's origin. He _was_ sort of handsome, in a masculine way. No, not handsome – attractive. There was a difference, she realized. With the long hair and the dark eyes, he was brooding and sneering, cold and callous, and could pass for a young Duke or a rich Lord. He had an aristocratic tilt to his profile and a smirk in his voice. Oh, his _voice_. He _frightened_ her with that voice. Rich, deep, laced with a rumbling purr, it was a baritone growl which chilled her and made her teeth go on edge. Just thinking about how easily he could kill her – and he could, there was no shade of mercy in his dark eyes – made her shiver, and not from the water. And it wasn't the death of Albus Dumbledore which scared her. Everyone knew about that.

But nobody knew about the death of a Potion's Apprentice named Quinn Gother.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Gaaaaaahhh. I am sick. I really want to thank all of you personally, but I just barely managed to type this out without throwing up or doing something else gross. So I'll just throw a blanket thank-you over everyone – sorry. Thank you SO MUCH for reviewing. I apologize for advance for any typos, spelling errors, or general awfulness in this chapter. Gaaaaaahhh. **


	6. Chapter 6

**~Chapter Six: Keeping Tabs~**

* * *

><p>She was stiff when she woke up.<p>

_That was to be expected_, she told herself in those gauzy moments before the mind is fully awake. _You are sleeping on a narrow sofa with only an afghan over your knees and a pillow beneath your head which smells of crisp basil._ She had tossed and turned all night, trying to find a spot on the thin couch cushions which didn't squeak, and finally just lay still, allowing her muscles to settle in all sorts of uncomfortable positions. In Severus's defense, he had almost launched them into their second fight in as many hours by insisting he sleep on the sofa. Sarah wasn't exactly sure what she had said to convince him, but she did remember putting a small hand on his chest and shoving backwards with a brusque, clipped movement which matched her words. She stretched and rubbed her eyes, kneading her cheeks with her palms as she tried to focus on her surroundings. It was a habit of hers, to focus in on where she was before waking up. It was an easy way to wake fully, and her eyes roved over the soft, supple gray shadows and hard, rustic edges of the furniture.

She was going to be living in this apartment for a good amount of time. Several months, if the lawyers worked frantically, and she doubted they would. Mentally, she applied a new carpet – perhaps a nice neutral tan, or a dark brown, something which wouldn't show dirt – and put up a few paintings. Something careful, studious, simplistic. A foxhunt, perhaps, or a horse racing. The walls could use a fresh coat of paint, something other than the odd pink-beige which had probably been on these walls since the early nineteenth century, if paint had even existed back then. Sarah wasn't too big on history. And furniture – chestnut wood, lots of clean lines and low edges. A low coffee table, glass-topped, and two leather reading chairs instead of this abysmally scratchy sofa. This wasn't an entertaining house anyway, and this couch was lumpy and uncomfortable. It looked as though the house had been built around it, seeing as it was bulky, awkward, and probably larger than the doorframe. And she would install a line of bookshelves, reaching halfway up the wall, with room on top to leave lamps, eyeglasses, and tea cups. Oh, Merlin, she needed a cup of tea. Strong, hot, with enough sugar to stand a spoon in.

There was a sound. Barely more than a gentle creak, but it let her know that Severus was awake.

She swung off the couch, small bare feet chilling instantly on the floors, and headed instantly for the opposite end of the room, where the kitchen was. A dented teakettle, chipped enamel grinning toothily at her, was pushed unceremoniously onto the burner. There was a split second hesitation – she could use magic to heat up a cup of tea, but she often found that certain things weren't improved by magic. Sugary tea was one of them. And besides, she needed to dress, and if she timed it correctly, she would be ready to leave the apartment by the time the kettle sang. There was another stirring noise, and she heard heels thump the floor lightly. The closet door stood ajar slightly, and she pulled her small toiletry bag from her almost empty suitcase. She darted to the loo, closing the door creakily behind her, and thumbing the lock hurriedly. She looked at herself in the mirror, made a face, and pushed on the tap with the palm of her hand.

Cold water splashed onto her face helped in waking her up, but the deep circles beneath her eyes did not diminish in the slightest. She was very concerned with appearances, and she rummaged through it, pulling out a fine-toothed comb with one hand and her toothbrush with the other. Brushing both teeth and hair simultaneously was a feat she had accomplished at a very young age, for sleep was precious to her, yet she also hated to be late. She was a walking contradiction, she told herself, and smoothed her blonde hair away from her face. Brushes were dropped back into the bag, and she ignored the pitiful amount of makeup which she had used on exactly three occasions – her brother's funeral, an embarrassing blind date which she had done her best to forget, and when she had been trying to one-up Severus.

Clothes weren't a problem. She loved clothes, loved shopping – it was one of the few things she did well and actually liked to do. But today, she needed to be out of the house before Severus woke up fully. She didn't want to see him in the mornings – never, ever, ever. Her fingers flew over buttons and buckles, tightening her belt, and was hopping around on one foot trying to get a shoe on when the kettle sang. She nearly tripped over her own feet, and she hurried to the kettle to bring it off the heat. A pair of white socks were yanked over her feet hard enough to poke a toe through, but she didn't have time to get a new pair of socks. Instead, she jammed her shoes onto her feet and poured the hot water into a mug. Two bags of tea were dropped in, to hasten the strengthening progress, and she checked herself in the mirror.

"Going somewhere?"

Sarah was a woman easily frightened – she actually screamed, fell down, and looked at him with silver eyes completely and utterly terrified. Severus arched an eyebrow disparagingly. "Funny, I've only seen that expression on first years in their first Potions class," He sneered. "And I repeat – are you going somewhere?"

Her heart hammered in her chest, and she was afraid she would look down and see it pulsing through her blouse. "I – _hate – _you," She panted, and got to her feet, closing her eyes and pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. "Don't ever do that again!" She snarled, and went over to her tea. Severus allowed her five seconds of opening and shutting cupboards before pointing out,

"The sugar bowl is in the last cupboard on the left," He told her, and she stood on tiptoe to reach it from the top shelf. It was an undeniably innocent gesture, reminiscent of a young child sneaking sweets, and he banished this thought with a shake of his head. His jaw then dropped when she dumped half the contents of the sugar bowl into her tea. "Merlin, woman, how much bloody sugar did you put in that poor tea?" He sputtered, sounding appalled.

"I like it sweet," She retorted, and brought the tea to her lips. It would be better with a dollop of cream, but she didn't feel like going through his pantry. "And you haven't apologize for frightening me."

"You haven't told me where you're going."

"Do I have to tell you every move I make?" Sarah snapped, swinging her small black bag onto her shoulder. He was relieved she had left her hulking one in the linen closet. "For your information, I am going to the Ministry to check in with my boss. After that, I'm picking up one or two things from the market, and then I'll probably go visit my friend Lindsey."

He didn't say anything further, just watched her, and then she raised her nose in the air with an aura of prim disdain. "I'll see you later this afternoon," She told him, and went down the stairs. It was as close to saying goodbye as she could manage without cowering. Why was he just _staring_? It unnerved her. Even with the door closed behind her, she still felt his eyes on her – dark, unfathomable, possessive, intimidating.

She could still feel his eyes on her.

* * *

><p>"Really, I don't know how you stand him."<p>

Her boss was an incredibly attractive man. An unruly mop of chestnut hair, striking hazel eyes, and a smile which always seemed to be near his eyes made him look extremely comely, what with his stocky, burly build and wide frame. But Sarah had known him long enough to know that his attractiveness was as smooth and fake as the smiles he flashed. He was the perfect politician – he had no official title, but he worked indiscreetly behind the scenes, feeding lines to one person, handing Galleons to another. He was tapping a letter opener against his teeth and looking at her with sympathy – sympathy which was totally bogus and was probably only being used to gauge her reaction. After almost six years of working for him – and then, recently, with him – Sarah knew that Keith was never sincere. He lied to himself, his mother, and almost everyone he met. He had promoted her after six months of seduction had failed and he had taken her into his office and praised her lavishly for resisting "tempting urges". Both the seduction and the praise had been fake. Everything about him was fake.

But he was a friend.

"You're the one who assigned him to me," Sarah answered tiredly. "You could have assigned me any of the other _decent_ ones – but no, you had to give me Severus T. Snape."

"We've been through this," He said soothingly, as though coaxing a spooked unicorn. "You're my most competent operative. I can't trust anyone else around him. And besides, you and I both know you have an extra dog in this fight as well."

Hot anger seared her normally frozen silver eyes. "Don't talk about it," She growled, hands snapping to fists.

"Sorry, sorry," He said. "Any news? How is he to live with? Did you shag him yet?"

"_Keith!_"

"It's not in your report," He informed her. "And as you know, it's _important_. We can't get you knocked up by Professor Snape, now could we?"

"Keith, I will _not_ continue along this vein of conversation with you. Especially you. Of all people."

"Fine, fine. But when you do, you come see me, all right? The ring you're wearing is totally fake, you know, so a standard contraceptive potion should work." Keith continued.

"Keith, one more condescending word out of your mouth and I swear I'll rip it off and owl it to your mother. And then I'll resign." Sarah threatened.

"Not sure which one would be more painful," Keith answered with a quick, bright smile. "But anyway, I'm being serious now. Be careful. I know you want to see him in Azkaban just as much as the next person –"

"More," Sarah growled.

" - But you need to learn to control your temper. The evidence will come with time. Get him drunk. Get the memory. Steal it from him, I don't care how you do it but I want evidence linking him to at least one Death Eater killing which wasn't under Dumbledore's orders."

She stood, pacing, hands stuffed into her skirt pockets, brow furrowed. "You don't get it, Keith," She snapped. She was one of perhaps five people in the world who called him his name to his face. "He's controlling. It's all about control with him. He's spent so much time being secretive, telling people one thing while doing another, that I don't think he's actually capable of truly opening up. It's ingrained in him. He couldn't open up to anyone as a child, except Lily Potter, and we all know how that went, of course. Any romantic attachments he had were severed, so he's been bottling it up for quite some time. It's not going to be easy, Keith – he doesn't _trust_. It's plain and simple. He never has, not truly." She finished her ramble, and then looked at him curiously. His arms were folded across his chest, his grin back. "What?" She asked.

"You do realize you just described yourself, right?" Keith pointed out. Her eyes went icy cold.

"I did nothing of the sort. That's nothing like me."

Keith just shook his head.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry this chapter is so short. I was actually able to get up and move around the house a bit today, so I'm feeling a little better. Tell me what you think of the plot twist! xD **

* * *

><p><strong>WordMasterOfFiction: <strong>Lol, here's the next update. And if you ever get your hands on a Time-Turner, we're going back to 1997, Akron, Ohio. I'll explain when we get there. xD

**Nanami Y.: **I do feel better, thank you for your well wishes.

**pennypotter128: **I'm glad you like the story! And here is the next update!

**tolisanodsnape: **Your English is great! I am SO EXCITED that someone is reading this story from Argentina! I am WORLD FAMOUS! (wiggles excitedly)

**Jiffie: **And another chapter for you!


	7. Chapter 7

**~Chapter Seven: A Scarred Discovery~**

* * *

><p>His lab was his sanctuary. There was a magical moment when the thick oaken door was shut and there was <em>silence<em> – nothing but the whisper of potions brewing, the bubble of simmering ingredients. No light except the soft, gauzy gray shadows around the hard edges of his shelves and drawers. That was bliss. That was serenity. When he came here, he could forget himself in the silvery scent of potions and his cold, icy persona melted with the hissing steam. He locked the door behind him, a thick bolt sliding forward, and flicked his wand, replacing his sturdy wards. He expelled a long, slow breath between his teeth, closing his eyes and trying to dismiss his troubles. Severus had found that he thought better when he brewed; the soothing continuity of mixing and carefully adding ingredients calmed him like nothing else. Shrugging off his overcoat and rolling up the sleeves of his tunic, he began gathering ingredients together and piling them on his butcher block table next to his cauldron. He pulled on a flexible pair of well-oiled dragonhide gloves, and picked up his stone knife, an essential tool for any potion maker. He lined up a handful of goosegrass, the thick yellow fronds twisting together, and began dicing them. The herb left little red streaks against his cutting board, the juice leaking into minute scores against the wood.

As he continued, his thoughts went from his recipe to what was troubling him. Lately, there had been quite a bit troubling him, all of them stemming from that miserable woman occupying his couch. She was rude, she was cold, and more than anything, he couldn't _figure her out_. Oh, he could see through her masks – she hadn't seen enough of life to build up sufficient walls against his probing. But there was something elusive about her, hidden and secretive. Most likely the death of her brother, Quinn, had shocked her into the quiet, frozen girl she was. When the goosegrass had been finely shredded, he dumped them in the cold cauldron and tapped his wand beneath the thick iron cauldron, lighting a fire. While the blue flames danced merrily beneath the iron pot, he took out a curved dragon claw and began to scrape shavings from it with his stone knife. The potion he was making was simple – which was good; he needed his mind on his musings.

Quinn Gother – why was that name familiar? He couldn't place it. He had a terrible mind for names, but he remembered faces down to the last detail. At any rate, it wasn't important; her brother's death had shaped her into the irritating woman she was now. And what had that episode been this morning? She had been more frightened than a cornered rabbit, and he couldn't understand _that_ either. There was so much he didn't understand about her, and he disliked not knowing about someone. It was something he prided himself on. Severus added a loose fistful of dragon claw shavings, then included a cup of steeped bluebells for taste. Setting the potion aside, he crossed the room and selected a thick, dusty tome from a shelf stretching across the northern wall. Flicking through the pages, he examined the list of students who had made an impression on him. There were six students who he had written down, so he could monitor them later in life. The annoying Miss Granger had been one of them. When the name Quinn Gother didn't come up, he slipped the book back on the shelf and sat back on his heels.

She was hiding something. But what? He needed to find out what. Severus ran his hands through his hair and went over to his potion, counting the stirrings under his breath as he mixed the ingredients. Sarah in Hufflepuff ... Now that was something he didn't see coming. With her cutting remarks and icy silver eyes, he would have guessed Ravenclaw, or perhaps Slytherin if she hadn't been Muggle-born. Halfbloods could squeak by in Slytherin – he should know, being one of them – but Muggle-borns would be sliced and diced. The Sorting Hat knew that. She didn't seem like a Quidditch player, not the kind of girl devoted to studies either. He would have to find out more about her.

A hum of electricity swarmed over his skin, rising the hair on his arms, and he looked up at the stairwell. His Sensory Charm he had placed over the doorway went off, indicating Sarah was back from her trip with her boss. Another suspicious thing – how many journalists and reporters have to check in with their supervisors on a daily basis? He mounted the stairs silently, opening the door and emerging in his dusty storefront. She was unloading packages on the counter of his shop, sorting through them, and looked up when he emerged. She took an unconscious step backwards, and Severus sneered mentally. Still frightened of him.

"You would not _believe_ who the Ministry paired the Golden Trio with," She reported as a greeting. He said nothing, merely arched an eyebrow, and examined the items she was dragging out of her bags. She had picked up groceries, like any sensible woman, but there was also a new pair of shoes and a lavender-colored robe which would probably be nice for summer evenings. Evidently she had gone shopping with her friend Lindsey, probably coaxed into shop therapy like any woman. His sneer deepened. " – and Zambini with the Hermione Granger," Sarah finished, and then looked up at him. "Are you listening to me, Professor?"

"The Weasley brat with Sylvia Nott, the Potter boy with Pansy Parkinson, and the Granger girl with Blaise Zambini," Severus recited lazily. "Seems as though the Minister has a preference for Slytherin-Gryffindor pairings."

"Yes, well, apparently there's a huge uproar at the Ministry because The Boy Who Lived wasn't forced to marry his girlfriend, what's-her-name, the Weasley girl," Sarah continued, stuffing a few items back into her back and tucking them into the crook of her elbow.

"Ginerva," Severus supplied, following her up the stairs.

"Yes, whatever, and he's launched a vendetta. No word from the Parkinson girl, though, she seems pretty happy." Sarah sighed, rubbing the nape of her neck, and piled her groceries on the slightly off-kilter kitchen table. "All in all, it was a miserable day, what with everyone running back and forth, yelling their heads off and disrupting my work."

"How dreadful," Severus drawled sarcastically. She flicked an angry glare at him.

"And what did you do? Lounge around the house looking important?" She snapped.

"Unlike you, despite of my distractions, I was able to get some actual work done for my clients," Severus smirked.

"I got work done," She said defensively. "I had to write a sodding article on The Golden Trio's unhappy pairings. I think they ought to all be stuffed – just because they're _celebrities_ doesn't mean they don't have to adhere to the same standards as everyone else."

"They obviously didn't make an exception in my case," Severus growled. She glared at him.

"That was both an insult to me and an ego-stroke for you. Congratulations." She grumbled, casting a Stationary Charm over the groceries and putting them haphazardly in the cupboards. "You are neither a celebrity nor exception-worthy. And I'm a nobody, making us the perfect match." She snapped the last sentence with extreme disdain and bitterness.

"I disapprove of the word 'celebrity'," Severus pointed out. "But by classification, I am one. And indeed, you _are_ a nobody."

"Oh, yes, because we ought to all bow down and worship cowardly spies who barter to both sides," Sarah hissed.

There was a flurry of movement, and she hardly had time to realize what the _hell_ had happened before she was pinned against the wall, wrists on either side of her head. He was so much taller and broader than her, keeping her firmly in place with his strong, wide hands. Those eyes, _Merlin_, those eyes were filled with hate and malevolence, sheer rage brimming from bottomless black orbs. "Miss Gother, if you call me coward again I swear you shall live to regret it," He snarled. "Because if there is one word which cannot be used to describe me, it is that. Were you there when I bowed before the Dark Lord, protecting those I loved? Were you there when I was trying to save that infuriating Potter boy from his own stupid pranks? Did you taste the fear in the air during the Last Battle, did you _feel_ life leaving from the castle stones? _Did you_?" He shook her, keeping her wrists hard against the wall.

He was so very close...

She wanted to cry or scream or kick him or do all three at once. Before she _knew_ what she was saying, she was sputtering out words, the sentences striking against each other like brands from a fire. "No! I wasn't! But don't you think you're the only one who has suffered, Severus Snape, because I can promise you that you aren't the center of the universe! You _aren't_ the only one affected by the war! How would you like it, to come home to news of your brother's death? Perhaps you've lost more in this war, but you aren't the only one who has memories! _You aren't the only person with scars_!"

"And I suppose you think that makes you _special_," He sneered, that deep, rich voice savage with hate. "I suppose losing your brother makes you _scarred_. But when the war was over, what did you do? Did you cry for your brother? Or did you just _sit_ there, so hurt that it made you _numb_?"

"His death made me!" It was almost a scream, bordering on a shriek. "His death, his curse, it made me who I am! _This wasn't always me_!"

She wrenched herself free from his grip, trying to look tall and hateful and imposing, but all she managed to do was look feral, as though she wanted to sink her teeth into his neck. She did, but that wasn't the point. "Don't touch me," She spat, rubbing her wrists. "Do you think I went to Hogwarts  
>like this? No! I was a fucking <em>sunshine<em> at Hogwarts! I had _friends_, I was _funny_. But no, now I'm fucking _ruined_! Because every time I see someone smiling I think to myself 'They haven't lost anyone. Laughing is something normal people do'. And it makes me sick, _sick_, to see people laugh together like a pair of lovers! Because they don't _have_ the scars, damn it!" She flailed her hands and struck the right one against the hard edge of the kitchen counter.

He moved to touch her, grab her shoulder, anything, and she flinched. "Don't touch me!" She repeated, this time a little fearfully. "Don't you dare touch me, Snape!"

"I'm not going to strike you, stupid child," He snapped. "Stay still." His grip on her wrist was firm, unforgiving, and he examined the bruise. "Do take care not to injure yourself again when you shout at me," He said sardonically. The momentary flash of his hurt was once more hidden behind a wall of sarcasm.

She was breathing hard, her heart racing a thousand miles an hour. With a sudden, sharp, jerky movement, she stepped away from him and went to the bathroom. "You can finish unpacking the groceries," She said coldly, and he saw that her icy mask was back in place. She closed the door behind her, and he heard the lock click.

Their masks were in place, the curtain was up. The show had begun, and the world was waiting for them to begin their performance. Because that's what it was – a performance. Lies. Deceit.

* * *

><p><p>

**A/N: Sorry for the short chapter! But it's Valentines Day, and I can't think properly with all of this pink around me. My middle child, Izzy, decided to decorate everything, and everywhere I look I see pink or red. Oh well. Ten year olds, you gotta love 'em. **

* * *

><p><p>

**Jiffie: **Yes. He is. I know this for a fact. xD Just kidding, I think we'll find out whether or not Snape is a cuddler later in this fiction. I actually have a whole chapter planned for cuddling...I love snuggle time. It's a secret weakness of mine.

**LyonBreach: **Aww, I'm glad you like it! I can't believe the amount of positive feedback I'm getting about Sarah. She's super fun to write about, mostly because she thinks she such a good little actress when she's really not. Here's your next update, by the way!

**esmeralda023: **Yes, isn't the plot twist lovely? I wanted to keep it vague about her scars in the first couple of chapters, but now that we're a bit into the story I thought I'd pull out the big guns. And you're right, Severus is too smart to think that nobody will go after him. But be patient, Dear Reader – it's all going to be a plot, all woven together. Will Sarah exact revenge? She doesn't seem like a vengeful person, but if my brother was killed, I wouldn't be able to stay in the same room with his murderer. Not without stabbing his eyes out with a dull knife. But whether Severus actually _killed_ Quinn is a different story. Gah, I must stop myself before I give the entire plot away! xD

**TheWordMasterOfFiction: **Really? I picked Sarah because it sounded plain, but it does sound like a good name for a spy. And as for Ohio, that was when I broke down in the middle of nowhere and got picked up by these fat old truckers...If you get ahold of a Time-Turner, we're going back there and keeping me from getting in the truck. It would save me several brain cells and not leave me mentally scarred. xD

**Nanami Y:** Yes indeed! And I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**0oBellina0o: **Wow! You're from Germany! That is so cool! I have readers from Argentina and Germany! W00t!


	8. Chapter 8

**~Chapter Eight: Let's Get This Over With~**

* * *

><p>"Really, I don't know how you stand him."<p>

The restaurant around Sarah was the nicest she had been in – it was the sort of place where each table had its own waiter and you had to claim you were related to the Minister of Magic to get seated. Somewhere in the background, a harp was playing itself beautifully, strings creating a cacophony of liquid sound which wafted around the room. The triangular plate in front of her held a square of salmon the size of a playing card, a yellow frond of some sort of herb displayed artfully across the pink slab, and a stripe of green sauce across the bottom of the plate. That was it. Her lunch partner was Lindsey, her best friend since Hogwarts and the most sophisticated, elegant, successful person that Sarah knew. The tasteful restaurant provided a perfect backdrop for the classically dressed woman, who had dark curls spilling over her shoulders and alert green eyes which never left Sarah's gray ones.

She was tall, regal and slender, with and obscenely beautiful body and a seemingly perfect lifestyle which Sarah envied intensely. The two of them had been in opposite Houses – Lindsey in Ravenclaw, she in Hufflepuff – but Sarah privately thought the taller woman should have been Sorted into Gryffindor. She had never met a braver soul; an aggressive Auror, Lindsey was the first in investigations and usually the last person to leave a hostile situation. Specifically speaking, Lindsey was her superior officer, but Keith outranked both of them. Together, the trio made a rather wonderful team: Keith managed the sleek, business aspect, Lindsey gathered information, and Sarah tried to wheedle secrets out of people. Many people feared them. And disliked them.

Lindsey took a pert sip of her white wine and arched a slender brow at her friend. Despite her pristine posture, Sarah felt a little out of place and overwhelmed by the fancy restaurant. Sighing, she pushed back her plate – mostly untouched – and tried to dissolve the knot of worry in her stomach. "That's not the worst of it," Sarah continued quietly, taking a sip of her own wine. "Tonight's Friday." Sarah arched her eyebrows meaningfully.

"Oh, you poor thing," Lindsey said, trying to sound sympathetic but failing. There was a hint of a smile around her full lips, tilting them upwards just slightly, and Sarah frowned.

"What?" Sarah demanded. "Why are you smiling? I'm about to have..." She squirmed, blushing a little, "..._sex_... with my former professor, who I'm unwillingly _married _to, no less!"

"Nothing, dear, relax," Lindsey answered, still smiling, and patted Sarah's hand. "It's just ... You were always such a _prude_ had Hogwarts."

"A _prude_?" Sarah sputtered, silver-steel eyes going bright and aggressive despite her embarrassed squirming. "I am nothing of the – I'm not a prude! I am a perfectly normal girl! It's not as if I don't know who men _are_, I'm not five years old or something, I'm just not wild about sleeping with someone! Especially someone who degrades me constantly, pins me against walls, and makes me feel about this high!"

"Calm down, Sarah," Lindsey said coolly, looking about her over the rim of her wineglass. "There's no need to shout. And I realize you don't like him, but there's nothing you can do. I can't imagine you earning his trust by _not_ sleeping with him, can you? Besides, he's older. I'm sure he'd understand."

Sarah rubbed the bridge of her nose, pushing her glasses upwards. A deep, rich blush was spreading evenly over her cheeks, and Lindsey almost laughed again. Sarah had always been the shyest girl she had known. "No, he won't. He'll drag it out of me, make me feel about three years old, and then humiliate me. It's what he does. And he'll enjoy it, the bastard."

"Look, Sarah," Lindsey said firmly, "Keith wouldn't have given you Snape unless he _knew_ you could handle him. You're the most capable Auror we have, and I have complete faith in you. You can get a memory, Sarah, I know you can." She paused a moment, cutting a neat wedge of her fish with the side of her fork and popping it delicately in her mouth. "Did he make any mention of Quinn?"

Her neck tightened, her shoulders going ramrod straight, and Lindsey saw fire flash in her steel eyes. "No. He doesn't remember him." Sarah said quietly, jaw locking.

"That's curious," Lindsey noted, arching an eyebrow. "Quinn would have been rather memorable to any person, but especially someone he worshipped."

Sarah said nothing, just glared her food to ashes, and then patted her lips deliberately with her linen napkin. "I don't know, Lindsey. Quinn ... Quinn couldn't have contacted him more than once or twice. Perhaps he worshipped him, but he didn't stalk him." She sighed, expelling the breath between her teeth, and threw her napkin aside. "I ought to go, Lindsey. It's four o'clock."

Lindsey watched her friend leave, exchanged the usual friendly departure promises of a return dinner engagement, and shook her head. They couldn't have paired two better people – Sarah Gother was smart. Unbelievably smart. She had terrible grades from her Hogwarts days, mostly because she had spent her time hiding in corners reading romance novels, but she was intelligent. And if there was a single person who could seduce Severus Snape straight into Azkaban, it was Sarah. The two of them were so perfect for each other, it was a little unreal. Privately, Lindsey was glad that Severus was being a prick to her – if he had been moderately kind and sympathetic towards her awkwardness, she would have fallen for him, even despite her best intentions.

However neither Keith nor Lindsey had actually _told_ Sarah that there was no evidence linking Severus Snape to Quinn Gother's death. But it was mightily convenient, and it would give Sarah the extra boost to put a known murderer and famous Death Eater behind bars. Besides, it was fairly safe to assume that the last person Quinn Gother saw would be his killer – he _had_ been going to meet Severus, after all. So Lindsey and Keith had made an educated guess and called up Sarah, telling her that she had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to catch her brother's killer and put him behind bars for unspeakable crimes. Naturally, Sarah had jumped at the chance.

She felt bad for using Sarah, terrible actually; but it was the wisest decision, and there was a seventy-eight percent chance that Severus was their wizard. So there was very little chance of Sarah being harmed. Besides, they hated each other – Lindsey could see it. Sarah feared him, as any sensible person, and hated him because he was yet another person who could make her feel afraid. Lindsey stood, gathering her coat, and paid the check with a generous handful of fat gold Galleons. Best case scenario, she told herself, is that Sarah connives a memory from Severus within a few weeks, gives the memory to the Wizengamot, and Severus goes to Azkaban. Or, like most Death Eaters, officially sent to Azkaban but actually turned over to suffering widows and orphans left in such a state by the War.

There was a certain radical extremist group calling themselves the Life Eaters who paid top notch for any Death Eater, alive or dead. Any person turned over to them was never heard from again, but there were rumors. Lindsey shuddered. Like Keith, she preferred not to know the gruesome details. If Severus went to the Life Eaters or to Azkaban, she considered her job done. The second he left her custody, she stopped caring. _Worst_ case scenario was a little more difficult to think of. Most likely something along the lines of Severus discovering Sarah is an undercover Auror trying to incriminate him, tortures her, and kills her. Yes, she decided as she left the restaurant. That would be the absolute worst case scenario. She turned out to be absolutely wrong. The worst case scenario would make every factor in their neat little organization crumble to pieces.

The worst case scenario would be Sarah Gother falling in love with Professor Snape.

* * *

><p>He felt the wards hum, heard the door click shut. Her boots clicking up the stairs. He took another hasty pull of the firewhiskey, closed his eyes briefly, and ground his teeth together. She emerged up the stairs, kicking the door shut behind her, and began unwrapping the scarf from around her neck. Judging by the causality of her movements, she must have thought he was still downstairs in his lab. He stayed perfectly still, possessed with a morbid desire to watch her when she was relaxed. She pulled off her boots, standing them neatly next to each other near the door, and hung her pastel colored scarf on a hook. Her summer jacket was shrugged off, and he saw her usual outfit – blouse, gray skirt, dark vest. Her buttery blonde hair was a little messy, most likely from her Apparition, and she was devoid of makeup once more. She brought her leg up and pulled it to her chest, stretching the muscles, and he saw – just for a split instant – the creamy flesh of her inner thigh. He closed his eyes again, wishing he were somewhere, <em>anywhere<em>, anywhere other than this place where he would have to deflower a young, naïve, innocent girl. After a moment, she groaned, and then sat down on the couch to take off her sheer gray socks.

"Had a nice dinner, did we?"

She shrieked, heart skipping several beats in her chest, and she almost fell over. He arched an eyebrow. "Miss Gother, you really must stop screaming like that. Please, contain yourself." His growling drawl was a deep purr, languid and lazy, as if he couldn't care less about her fear.

"You stop doing that!" She demanded, her voice high and unnaturally squeaky. "I _told_ you I don't like to be snuck up on, and if you pounce on me like that one more time, I shall jinx you to the ceiling."

"You think _that_ was pouncing?" Severus snapped, and she saw in the dim light that he was leaning against the wall, his dark frame tall and imposing against the ugly colored walls. "No, Miss Gother, if I wanted to _pounce_ on you, you would already be dead, if I so wished it."

Chills ran down her spine, shattering whatever remaining sense of calm she had left. "Is that a threat?" She squeaked.

"An informative bit of knowledge."

"Ah."

There was a long silence. And then, he was all business. "I made two phials of Dreamless Sleep potion. They are on the counter." He said, nodding towards a vast array of potions which were lined up on the counter. "I also have an old fashioned contraceptive potion of my own design, which should be enough to get around any protective Charms on your ring."

The words choked up in her throat, sticking in her mouth, and she wordlessly downed the ones he indicated. The Dreamless Sleep potions he left for later use, she surmised, and her stomach turned queasily over on its self. She wanted a bath, desperately. But all she could do was look up at those dark, cold, cruel eyes and swallow hard, trying to get back the big lump in her throat and making sure not a single tear spilled from her eye. He was _terrifying _her. He almost swore – she was just _looking_ at him, looking at him with big, huge, frightened eyes of gray, and he wondered how he was ever going to get through this night. His partners had been brief, unemotional, and occasionally painful – her experiences were nothing. He had no idea. Neither of them had any idea.

With a tiny jerk of his head, he gestured towards the bedroom. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Guess what? You're reading an M rated fanfiction! Which means – smut. Copious smut. Smut in plenty of places. Smut, smut, smut. However, I _will_ warn you now, and the next update: THE NEXT CHAPTER SHALL PURELY BE SEX. It's sex between two consenting adults, and if you are bothered by this, go away please. Thank you. **

**If you're still here, how was the chapter? **


	9. Chapter 9

"Let's get this over with."

_Oh God, now what?_

She could hardly breathe – it felt as though steel bands were clamping down on her chest, and her heart threatened to tear through her blouse. She was about to have _sex – _with Professor Severus Snape, murderer, Death Eater, spy! Her mask, which she usually felt so sure of, was slipping drastically, and she could feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She fought against them with a sharp breath, swallowing hard – she _would not cry_. Not in front of him. Sarah discreetly wiped her eyes, and set her teeth resolutely. He would only feel uncomfortable and sneer at her more, and make this situation even more unpleasant. The door clicked shut behind them, and she jumped, quivering slightly, and crossed her arms over her chest. Turning, Sarah moistened her lips and looked at him, trying hard to meet his eyes but failing. It was _impossible_ to look at him squarely in the eyes when his eyes were so intense – it was like looking at a wolf. A wolf who was about to devour her. Sarah tried to calm her rapid breathing and bit down hard on her lower lip, conjuring images of Quinn in her mind's eye. She relaxed slightly – Quinn always knew how to calm her down, how to soothe her. The two of them had been so close, so very close, sharing almost everything. He had been such a wonderful older brother...

And this man, this man she was about to sleep with, had taken him from her.

He watched her, her small, delicate body folding in on itself as she sat down on the bed. That funny little sheaf of blonde hair fell across her eyes, shielding on silver-gray orb from sight, but she looked up at him with open, raw fear in her eyes. He cursed to himself – _how_ was he supposed to do this? This was going to be _ridiculously_ awkward, uncomfortable, and painful – and he didn't want to open himself up to this sort of intimacy. Sex, for Severus, was something to knock the edge off – when the nightmares became too vivid, when the walls started closing in, then the warmth of another person next to him was a lifeline. But here, in the dimming twilight and ghostly gray shadows, this was something _married_ people did. And he wasn't married, he told himself, no matter what the Ministry said. As soon as this law was repealed, then he was kicking her out – but none of this was helping him here and now. Giving comfort was not something Severus did often, and giving comfort to someone before sleeping with them was something he had never done. So how was he supposed to play this? Seductive, lazy, and slow? Or chilly and unemotional, getting it over with quickly?

Her voice shattered the glassy web of silence: "You'll have to allow me some leeway, Professor. I don't –" She paused, swallowed, tattooed a look on the floorboards. "I don't have the slightest idea what to do."

He snorted softly and sat down on the bed next to her. "You didn't have any curiosity as a teenager, did you?"

"Not in the slightest," Sarah snapped back. There was a long, uncomfortable pause, and then she suggest timidly, "Couldn't you give me the Dreamless Sleep potion _now_, and then ... get it over with?"

"_No," _Severus said instantly.

"Why not?" Sarah demanded, looking at him for the first time. He curled his lip.

"One, because if I will not, under any circumstances, _molest_ someone. And two, if I have to live with the awkwardness, then so do you." Severus told her icily.

"This is a convenient time to suddenly acquire morals," Sarah sneered defensively, trying to cover her shaking hands with an insult. "Seeing as you didn't have any for most of your life."

His hands snapped to fists, and she could almost see his hackles rise. "Miss Gother, you pick the most delicate time of the week to insult me, do you realize that? For your information, I _do _have morals, a conscience, and know right from wrong. All three of these things can be discarded when I choose, for I have been trained to disregard human life and enjoy suffering. Miss Gother, look at me," He commanded, and she did so reluctantly, lips tightening. Silver blended with black. "Miss Gother, I am just as wary of this union as you are. Do not presume that you are the only one who is nervous about this exchange."

She looked away, and he knew she was fighting back tears. "So what do we do now?" She asked dully, prim posture sagging.

He looked at her. She seemed vulnerable, weak, and her icy shroud of indifference was mostly gone. She was pretty, young, blonde – what normal wizard wouldn't want her? But normal wizards hadn't been through what he had. Sarah sighed, and tilted her head back, looking at him with tired finality. She was tired of pretending, tired of shielding, and she was tired to hiding her fear. She wanted him to know she was afraid, and she wanted this over with. Those silver-gray eyes met his dark charcoal ones fully, and he saw the emotions displayed across her face. Indecision, exhaustion, fear, and shame were all painted on her gray eyes, and he was seized suddenly with an idea. He got to his feet, crossing the room to pull down the shades. Tapping his wand on the windows, the dim light was blocked out, and plunged the room into shadowy darkness.

Fear tinted her voice. "What ... What are you doing?"

"I do believe it will be easier if we don't have to look at each other," Severus said quietly, firmly.

A choked, strangled breath. "You're...you're right."

It _was_ easier in the dark, she realized – no sights. She could pretend she wasn't about to sleep with her brother's murderer, not about to sleep with a man she barely knew and feared for all her life. It was easier. She stood hesitantly, and her fingers moved to the buttons on her vest and blouse, slipping the ivory discs through the buttonholes quickly, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. Some of the guilt slid off her shoulders, along with her blouse, because in the dark she could pretend it was someone else. Someone who cared about her, someone _she_ cared about. Perhaps that handsome Auror who always winked at her – what was his name? Gregory? He was a Weasley, she knew that much, but she couldn't place his name to the face. At any rate, she was standing in the drafty room dressed in just her camisole and skirt, and she could heard Severus – _No, some random person, not Severus – _undressing as well. The redheaded Auror was easier to picture than the dark-haired, intense Potion's Master. A random stranger was better than her brother's murderer. Inwardly, she cursed Keith. How dare he force her to sleep with him? The ultimate curse – showing affection and sharing intimacy with a torturer. A murderer. The man who had mercilessly slaughtered her brother. Tomorrow morning – No, the second this was over – she was going straight to the Owl Office and sending a Howler to Keith.

All thoughts of Howlers disappeared when he touched her.

It was a light caress, just long fingertips skimming the shoulder straps of her camisole, and she shivered violently. For a split second, her mind thought of those beautiful white fingers, long and elegant, agile and sophisticated, and then she turned her brain off. She didn't want to put pictures to the sensations – the sensations were enough. Goose bumps went shuddering across her skin as he edged the linen material off her shoulder, another hand dropping to her waist to untuck the camisole from her skirt. She could feel his presence, solid and broad, directly in front of her, and his warm breath sent stray blonde hair breezing away from her face.

She didn't consciously tilt her chin back, but she must have, because the next thing she knew he had brushed a kiss across her throat. He didn't kiss her – she was grateful, kissing would only bring emotions into play. Sarah had kissed before, and she knew you couldn't hide anything in a kiss. But those full lips mouthing her throat sent a hot sheet of unexpected arousal flaring through her stomach, and she pushed him away. "Stop," She said, her voice too loud in the warmth and darkness. "Stop."

His sigh was agitated. "Miss Gother, you do realize that a certain amount of foreplay is required for this process to be as painless as possible, correct?" Severus asked, his silken voice a ribbon of velvet rippling between layers of satin.

"I – I know," She said shakily. "Just give me a moment, will you?"

He obeyed, she had to give him that. But he didn't move away, still stayed quite close to her, enough for Sarah to feel his breath and hear his heartbeat, if she was very quiet. And she collected herself, as though she were collecting fragments of glass, and took a breath. "All right," She breathed. "I'm fine."

She pulled the camisole off her body – she didn't want him undressing her. Because undressing each other was something people did for romance, for love, and this was neither. This was sex. No emotions. Just the darkness, just themselves. Not each other. With this thought in mind, she unbuckled her belt and allowed her skirt to spread out by her feet, kicking it away delicately with a toe. His hands, wide and light, sketched patterns over her back, barely touching her waist, her hips, her ribcage. In the dark, with her eyes closed, she concentrated on her arousal – allowed it to build. This wasn't love, this was sex, she repeated to herself as he placed an open-mouthed kiss on the smooth line of her neck. It was harder to think when his teeth closed around the cradle of her ear, and she stopped thinking altogether when his thumb brushed over the hardened bead of her nipple.

They explored, in the dark, together. Their touches were chaste, simple, and they kept their quiet sounds of approval to themselves. Her skin was soft and supple beneath his fingers, and under normal circumstances he might have liked to spend a bit of time getting acquainted with every inch of it. But this wasn't normal circumstances. She willed her courage up from the depths of her heart – Sarah didn't have much courage, but when she was brave, she was – and touched his chest. He was smooth skinned, with sleek muscles rippling around a lithe frame. He wasn't overly bulky, but comprised of angles and firm, rounded edges. She hadn't touched a man's bare chest before, so she couldn't be sure, but he felt handsome beneath her fingers. She found the necklace around his neck, slender fingers threading through the magical ring on the V of the chain, touching the skin beneath. Her curious touches faltered when she brushed against the curve of his hip, and stopped completely when his fingers wove through her hair and nipped at her collarbones.

The darkness held their secrets as they tried unsuccessfully to put aside their emotions, the two of them trying to make this as short as possible, but as they concentrated more on feeling, the more their arousal grew. Fingers laced together as Sarah sank against the mattress, touches grew softer as breathing came harder. Muscles and heartbeats betrayed them as lips brushed once, in the briefest of kisses, and both were grateful for the darkness when their libido peaked. Blushes skated across skin as bare fingers sketched and swept, and Sarah arched her back when the low, tight coil in her belly wound to the breaking point.

Their union was moderately painless on Sarah's side – a brief, dry pinching, a flash of pain, and then relaxation. Against Severus's will, his fingers tightened between hers, and he pressed her hands against the mattress as he paused, trying to catch his breath. Every sense was sharpened, painfully so, and images of thick red hair and dancing green eyes were swimming in his vision. This was _Lily_, he told himself, and he nearly lost himself then and there. To have Lily in this position, beneath him, gasping for breath, would be heaven. It would be a miracle. And against his will, as they were joined, he bent his head to kiss her.

She was surprised at the kiss and nearly broke it, but his lips were so soft, and the tickle of dark hair against her throat created such a pleasant sensation. It was needy, desperate, and rough, and almost anguished in its ferocity as he suckled on her lower lip. Kissing was something she knew, but as she began to kiss back, he began to move, and _that _sent white sheeting through her vision. Her back arched in spite of herself and a whimper tore free from her lips, swallowed by his mouth as he kissed her, slow, steady strokes jarring her and making stars blare in her eyes. Oh, _god_, it was as though every nerve ending were on fire, as though she were being pulled in two opposite directions, and she could barely find the coherent thoughts to sob as she crested.

Something had to give, and the two of them broke together. Warmth spilled into her, and heartbeats synched as Sarah's – _Lily's_ – breath stopped. They stayed together until it was impossible, and then Severus withdrew.

_Oh, god, what just happened?_

Sarah's head was spinning, every particle of her dizzyingly light and drifting. She felt overly sensitive and sore, and it took almost a full minute to realize that the rasping, weak gasps were coming from _her_. With a heroic effort, she tried to stifle the little noises, but it was impossible, seeing as her body and mind were severed from one another. She blessed the darkness, because she was sure there was a look of utter debauchery on her face, sticky and hot as she was, and a full-body blush swept her skin. The darkness was silent, and Sarah realized Severus was lying next to her, his breath low and steady. She could almost feel his eyes on her – no, she _could_ feel his gaze on her. Dark, unfathomable black eyes which glittered even in the velvety darkness.

He made no move to stop her as she got unsteadily to her feet, merely lay on his side and watched her gather her clothes. She didn't trust herself to look at him, _couldn't_ trust herself to look at him. A slanted slice of gray light spilled into the room as she opened the door to leave, and Severus got a glimpse of silver-blonde hair. He closed his eyes, but the image was implanted in his brain – he hadn't just slept with Lily, despite what his mind tried to insist. He had slept with a woman who was terrified of him, and the sex had been dubiously consented. It was the equivalent of having sex with a whore. And he wasn't going to sleep with a whore four times a month, because he couldn't live with that. He heard her lock the bathroom door, heard her run the bathtub. Next Friday, he told himself, next Friday would be different. He would spend his week trying to make this place habitable, try to get along. Because if they couldn't get along with each other, then the game was forfeit.

In the dangerous game they played, they had to be allies, otherwise they would both lose.

* * *

><p><p>

**A/N: Okay, now, this chapter had to be moderately vague, because I'm not used to writing smut scenes with bad emotions behind it. I can't. So, just wait a few chapters, and you will get a PROPER smut scene, full of fluff and smut and dirty knickers. xD I can write them, I just don't publish them. So wait until some nice emotions are built up. Oh, and we get plenty of wangsting in the next chapter. Please review! **


	10. Chapter 10

**~*Chapter Ten: An Unlikely Bond*~**

* * *

><p>Keith had known Sarah since she left Hogwarts – she was an excellent Auror, and he had recruited both Lindsey and Sarah straight off. Looking back, it was one of the best moves of his career – they had completed several successful missions together, the three of them working as a superlative team. And, seeing as he had known Sarah so long, he had assumed he knew every one of her emotions, all of the expressions she tried to keep secret. He liked to know his Aurors inside and out, he wanted to know what drove them, what motivated them. He knew things about her that even Sarah didn't know, nuances and details which casual observers wouldn't pick up. He had even performed multiple extensive background checks on her to ensure she would be the best Auror for the position. She was, of course, and by doing such thorough research, Keith thought he knew everything there was to know about Sarah.<p>

He was very, very wrong.

He had never seen her so embarrassed, furious, and ashamed before. She had her wand out, cheeks flaming red, and those cool silver eyes were the color of heated lead. The Howler she had sent him earlier that morning had screamed at him for fifteen minutes straight, insulting everything from his mother to his great-uncle, and exploded into bad-smelling fireworks which hung around his office popping sparks on his neck. Inwardly, he wondered where on earth she had found such a Howler – but another shower of golden sparks singed his curls, and he ducked back under his desk. She was very quiet – short and petite though she was, Sarah was extremely threatening when she was silent. And Keith knew that when she spoke, it would be in a strained, broken, high-pitched voice which made battered doormice proud. "Keith Nichols, take me out," She squeaked, in that tinny, angry little voice which was both frightening and humorous.

"I would, dearest, but you _are_ holding a wand to my head," Keith said, peering out from under his desk. His wand lay a good five feet away from him, held captive under the toe of Sarah's polished black boot. She kicked the wand towards him exasperatedly, and tucked her wand back into her sleeve. Those full cheeks were flaming red, and Keith crawled hesitantly out from under his desk. Another shower of golden sparkles crisped his neck hair, and he cast a quick _Impervious_ charm over his flammable paperwork. "Where did you get that Howler, by the way? It's annoying and painful, two things which could really sell on the market." Keith asked. She stabbed a finger at him.

"Don't change the subject. Pull me out of this mission." She snapped.

"Why?" Keith asked simply, sitting on the corner of his desk. "Why can't you finish this mission?"

"_Why_?" Sarah spluttered. "I'll tell you why! I just lost my virginity to the man who _murdered_ my brother! I am also _married_ to that aforementioned murderer, and next Friday, I have to do the _exact same thing_! I want out! Modify his memory, assign him Lindsey for all I care. I can't do this, Keith!"

"Yes, you can," Keith stated. "You're allowing your personal feelings to get in the way of the mission. You _need_ a memory, Sarah, or at least a record of any killing he made _not_ on Dumbledore's orders. It shouldn't be difficult. I can't imagine he sent Snape off on many missions to kill people." He paused, watching her, and then allowed a slight undercurrent of sincerity to creep into his tone. "You're the best Auror I have, Sarah, and if I send in another one, the missions won't be completed. _You_ are the only one who can do this, Sarah. Do it for Quinn."

"Don't throw Quinn back in my face!" Sarah snarled. "You and Lindsey, you're both using him as a prop to make me do anything you want! Yes, Quinn's death is my fault, and _yes_, I should have stopped him from going to see Snape! But that doesn't mean you can keep using his death to manipulate me!"

"I'm not manipulating you, Sarah, I'm reminding you of your priorities," Keith said bluntly. "I gave you Snape because you can handle him, and because I know you'd want to personally get your hands on Quinn's killer. You can _do_ this, Sarah, I know you can. Make him dinner. Ask him questions. Try to get on his good side. You have to make this marriage work, Sarah, at least for a little while."

"How long?" Sarah asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Keith queried.

"How long do I have before this is over?" She asked, staring him straight in the eye. "As soon as I get the memory, the mission is over, correct?"

"Correct."

"And what happens to Severus then?"

"He is tried before the Wizengamot and sentenced to Azkaban," Keith lied smoothly. "Very basic." _And very cheap,_ Keith thought mentally. The Life Eaters were shelling out over five thousand Galleons for Severus Snape, enough to make any common man rich. "Tell you what, Sarah – get the memory, and then leave Severus to me. You can take a leave after this, go someplace sunny. The Caribbean, or maybe somewhere in the States. All right? Just make him your friend. I know it'll be hard, but I think you can do it. All right?"

Sarah rubbed the bridge of her nose, pushing her glasses up. "All right," She sighed, and then bit her lip.

Making Severus Snape her friend. Oh, Merlin.

* * *

><p>She heard the gentle clink of dishes when she came in the door. It was a curiously domestic sound, and she cocked an ear to it for a moment before she realized what it was. Dropping her bag on the shop counter, she climbed up the crooked stairs and opened the door, peeking around it, hoping to catch Severus in a relaxed moment. She did – and was completely taken aback. Severus was washing dishes, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow, dark hair tucked behind his ears. His frock coat was folded over the back of a chair, and by checking the clock on the wall she realized she had come home nearly an hour earlier than expected. She had planned to go hash out the details of a new operative, and think of a scheme to modify Severus's memory, but instead had been talked into continuing with the job. So now, observing him in this rare moment, she caught a glimpse of Severus – not Professor Snape, not Snape, just Severus. A quiet living man who had loved a woman with all his heart, loved her desperately, and had her taken from him. They were similar in that respect – both had loved and lost. Those scars aligned, at any rate. And for an instant, she felt sorry for him – just a momentary flicker of sympathy towards the man.<p>

Nearly instantly, she felt repulsed and guilty. He had slain her brother mercilessly. She had no time to be sympathetic to murderers. The momentary softness was written off to her hunger, and the approaching time of the month which rendered nearly all women emotionally unstable. So she shut the door perhaps louder than necessary, and came inside, kicking off her shoes. Severus said nothing, merely shook the water from his hands and flicked his wand, drying the dishes and stacking them neatly with a silent spell. He looked at her as she shrugged off her coat, hung it over the back of a chair, and ran her fingers through her short blonde hair.

And then there was that long, unbearably awkward silence which stretched from then to eternity.

Finally, Sarah scraped up the courage to look him in the eye. As usual, she couldn't read a single emotion in those dark eyes – blank as a wiped slate, but with the curious sensation of absorbing every detail. "What's for dinner?" She asked, very quietly, hardly daring to believe her own mouth. There – that was the first step towards being friends. She felt sick to her stomach – _friends_ with a man she feared and hated. Friends.

"Not particularly hungry, myself," Severus answered, just as quietly. "Although I put the kettle on for tea. Would you like a cup?"

They were being polite – terse. As if they were brief acquaintances instead of unwilling lovers. Sarah nodded, and tried to think of a mutually agreeable topic which might entice him into conversation. And then she decided to throw everything to hell and say what she was thinking. God only knew what emotional turmoil she had been going through the last few days, and if Severus didn't understand, then to hell with that. "Are we supposed to have one of those awkward 'morning after' conversations which generally leads to the dissolving of relationships?"

_Oh, hell, what did I just say? _

_Did he just...? No. Severus Snape would never smile._

But he had – no more than a quirk of his lips, a subtle tilt to the left side of his mouth, despite how tightly his lips were pressed together. "I believe we're having one right now, Miss Gother. If I didn't know better, I would say you were quite practiced at them."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I've had the worst week of my life and am in no mood to be having any awkward moments," Sarah responded tartly. "So yes, I would love a spot of tea, and then I am going to retire with my book. You may putter about in your lab, if you wish, or do whatever morose professors do on weekends." She couldn't believe her mouth was running off like this – somewhere on her way home from the Ministry, her mind and mouth had gotten disconnected. Or maybe perhaps reconnected for the first time in her life.

"I do not 'putter', Miss Gother. I practice extremely serious and difficult potion-making down in my lab, and any potioneer who 'putters' cannot give themselves that title." Severus corrected her sharply, pouring two teacups of tea. Sarah picked up her tea, added a dollop of cream, and began ladling sugar into it. Severus waited until she finished with the sugar bowl and added drily, "I can't imagine you were much at potions, Miss Gother."

"I beg your pardon!" Sarah said, affronted. "I worked extremely hard in my potions class, only to be rewarded with sub-par grades because the professor expressed extreme favoritism towards his House."

There it was again, that barest quirk of his lips. "If you really knew that professor, you would know that he rewards truly exceptional work. If I remember correctly, you were mediocre – neither exceptional nor abysmal. You have no career in brewing, but if I trusted you to make a potion I would be reasonably confident that I would not spontaneously combust due to an error in your work."

"Oh, and any member of the Slytherin House are all 'exceptional'?" Sarah demanded.

"They may have a slight edge," Severus answered, face completely solemn. He sat down on the couch, crossed his legs in front of him, and watched her idly as she made herself comfortable on the other end of the sofa. She sipped her overly-sweet tea and sighed in appreciation.

"Did you have any particular reason for insulting my skills as a brewer, Professor?" Sarah inquired.

"Only that any respectable person who puts four lumps of sugar into their tea would be shite at potions." He answered crisply.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. She couldn't argue with that. Inwardly, she tried to wrack her brains for another topic of conversation. Abruptly, she blurted out, "Professor, how did you survive?"

There was a long moment of silence, and then Severus turned to her. "In the Shrieking Shack, you mean?" He asked softly. She nodded, not daring to look at him, unable to believe she had just asked that question. He took a sip of his tea and stared at the ugly coloured paint on the wall. "The Dark Lord sent his snake, Nagini, to attack me," Severus began quietly. "The Potter boy and his friends were there, watching. I was – bleeding rather badly." He cut himself off as he tried to stop the flow of memories which stung his eyes. Why he gave those memories to Potter was simple – he had thought he was going to die. "I was fully intent on dying, but Fawkes had other ideas," Severus continued. "Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, arrived not long later. His tears – as I'm sure you're aware, phoenix tears are incredibly rare and can heal almost any wound. Nagini's bite was no exception. I do not know who or what sent the phoenix, but I am eternally grateful to whoever did."

"Why didn't you tell the _Prophet_?" Sarah asked nervously, passing her tongue over her lips. "They're spinning all sorts of rumors that you have Horcruxes or something along those lines."

"Miss Gother, I did not kill to further my own being," Severus snapped instantly. "Any person that I tortured or killed was against my will and under the order of either the Dark Lord or the Headmaster. Killing helpless innocents merely to extend my life and force my existence to unnatural lengths is a cowardly move. And I, Miss Gother, am no coward. I have been called many things in my days, but I can never accurately be called a coward."

She stayed silent, finishing her tea and holding onto the last vestiges of warmth. Part of her wanted to go run a bath, to scrub off the guilt from her skin, but there was a small, flickering flame which wanted her to stay here, next to him, and soak in his words.

Whether they liked it or not, the two of them were reluctantly beginning to form a bond.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, my daughter made an INCREDIBLE banner for this story. I'm really in love with it. She hasn't read the story, of course, but she likes the premise and wants to add some visual to the story. Here's the link: http:(doubleslash) sleek-otter (dot) deviantart (dot) com/art/Theoretical-Love-Banner-289670079 Take out the spaces and the put periods where the dots are. xD **

* * *

><p><strong>ShelleySnape: <strong>Thank you. I think it will get interesting quite soon, what with the two of them practically forced to be friends. xD

**Nanami Y.: **Thank you very much! Its bound to be extremely awkward and embarrassing, especially since the two of them were practically strangers not so long ago. I hope I portrayed that.

**TheWordMasterOfFiction: **Curse you! I read your profile, and I saw that little snippet about me (thank you, by the way). But the comment "While her ideas are not exactly original, she manages to put her own spin on it" or something along those lines, _THAT_ got my muse stuck on Twin!Harry. Mugh.

**blind-saint: **Here's your update! And yes, I'm sorry it was vague, but you'll get your proper, smutty, filthy smut scene in a few chapters. xD And there will be plenty of eyeballing after that. And actual romance! Wow!

**ellaspell: **Glad you like it! Here's the next chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

***Chapter Eleven: Irony Is A Cruel Mistress***

* * *

><p>She was a pretty little thing.<p>

The two wizards milled aimlessly around the sweet shop across the street from Snape's Apothecary. They kept flicking darting, curious glances at the door, and when there was movement, they both pretended to be very interested in the window display. The two of them were quite different in looks – one of them was tall and thin, with spindly fingers which twitched lightly beneath crisp white cuffs, and dark hair which was swept cleanly back. A pair of square-framed spectacles, much like Sarah's own, were settled on the bridge of his nose. His companion was short and muscular, with curly brown hair and a stocky, burly build, with handsome brown eyes and a rounded jaw. Although quite young, the shorter man had deep lines around his eyes and mouth, and the taller man looked as though he hadn't smiled in years. But together, the two sets of pale eyes watched the woman curiously, watched her fumble awkwardly with her keys, and took in her appearance. Short, with rounded edges and cropped blonde hair. Plump in a pleasantly attractive way, with a meek stance. She was loaded down with a bag the size of a small dog, and the bag seemed to be splitting at the seams, positively crammed with books and papers and junk.

"Skirts and vests," The tall man said softly, barely whispering. His voice was hard, smooth and sleek, like a polished block of marble. "She nearly always wears skirts and vests."

"Wasn't paying attention to her clothes," The shorter man said. In truth, he was far more interested in her arse, but he wasn't about to say that to his partner. "Do you think he has her Imperioused?"

The two of them watched her drop her keys, and they could see the annoyance written on her face combined with the swear which fell from her lips. "She doesn't quite act like it," The taller man answered lightly. "But he could have her under a potion."

"Can't imagine Snape being the kind of man to let his woman out of the house, to tell you the truth," The other man said shortly. "Bit possessive, if you ask me."

"Yes, he is quite domineering," The taller man murmured. "And he doesn't realize she presents us with the chink in his armor."

The shorter man turned to look at him. "You can't be serious, Barnaby," He said, nearly forgetting to keep his voice down. "You saw the way they were. The two of them despise each other. Yesterday they were practically clawing each other's eyes out."

"I'm not suggesting we _harm_ the girl, Ian," Barnaby snapped icily. "Merely noting that her daily outings are the perfect opportunity to befriend her and learn a bit more about our dear friend Professor Snape."

Sarah walked briskly away from the shop, a stiff breeze blowing her hair back. It was a beautiful summer day, one of those shining, golden mornings which seemed to spill a song from every bird's beak and put a smile on everyone's lips. However, she was in London – and there were very few birds here, save for the fat, waddling gray pigeons who grew obese on the crumbs of tourists. Still, it was a beautiful day, and she hadn't encountered Severus _once_ this morning, which had saved her more potential embarrassment. He had been in the lab all night, and Sarah privately wondered what he was working on down there. She tossed aside her troubles with a shake of her head, and hitched her heavy bag a little higher on her shoulder. What Severus did in his lab was none of her business – and she hadn't gone to Hufflepuff for nothing. She was curious, yes, but the idea of being caught in his lab sent a frozen stroke of fear through her belly, squelching any desire for exploration. And that was even assuming she could get past his wards; Severus was a talented wizard, extremely so, and she knew she wouldn't be able to get past his spells and curses. She ruffled her hands through her hair and tried to focus on her morning again – she was going to go see Lindsey, and the two of them were going to go snoop around the Golden Trio and spot potential marriage problems. The main idea behind this, of course, would be to point out that the method used to test couple's compatibility was faulty, and therefore disintegrate all marriages. She and Lindsey hadn't been assigned to the case, but a little extra help never hurt.

"Excuse me, miss? Did you drop this?" Asked a polite voice near her elbow. Sarah turned, startled, and looked up a well-dressed man who was extending a dainty white handkerchief towards her. He was tall, and quite thin, with long sideburns and glasses similar to hers. He wore dark clothing, and his boots were high laced, spotlessly gleaming articles. All in all, he looked like a wealthy, mild-mannered aristocrat.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry," Sarah answered. "Thank you, though."

"My mistake," The man said genially. "Allow me to introduce myself – I am Barnaby Cobsworth. I believe I've seen you walking to the Ministry entrance before, may I join you?"

Sarah gave a little start when she realized she was talking to another wizard. "You wouldn't happen to be _the_ Barnaby Cobsworth, the man who published _Twenty Terrible Tales of the Second War_, would you?" Sarah asked hopefully. He offered a little smile which showed even white teeth.

"The very same." He smiled, shaking her hand. "And may I inquire as to your name?"

Sarah was flustered and delighted all at once. "Oh! Yes, well, I'm Sarah Gother. It's _wonderful_ to meet you, sir, really wonderful! I so admire your work – your descriptions are very compelling. And I don't know _how_ you procured all of those interviews, especially with such accurate detail!" Sarah said, her silver eyes large and animated. "I'm a journalist myself, so I was especially able to appreciate your work."

"Are you?" He asked, pretending to be surprised. "And what do you write for, my dear?"

"The _Prophet_," Sarah answered, blushing a little. "Just a silly column, really, I'm positive no-one reads it."

"You might be surprised," Barnaby encouraged, "I myself started in a local rag before publishing my first book – my little scribblings were noticed by a higher editor, and the rest is history," He concluded with a fair imitation of happiness. "You never know who might be reading."

"Thank you, Mr. Cobsworth," Sarah said, and smiled a little. She hadn't smiled in so long – at least, if _felt_ as though she hadn't smiled in eternity. "I do appreciate that."

They drew alongside the Ministry entrance, and he bowed a little. "This may seem rather forward, seeing as though we've only just been introduced, but may I offer a dinner invitation?"

Sarah swallowed hard. It would be so easy to say yes. He was charming – older than her, surely, but he had charisma and obviously some wealth. And he was handsome, if in a refined way. Still, the media would explode with the infidelity rumors – she was not the only person having lunch or dinner with another man, despite her marriage. But it _did_ feel nice to be appreciated once in a while – he seemed like a romantic man. Her silver-gray eyes lowered a little, and her smile turned slightly bitter. "My apologies, Mr. Cobsworth, but I'm afraid I'm already married," She said, and held up her left hand for inspection. The shiny silver Ministry ring gleamed dully in the sunlight, and he made a little noise of disappointment under his breath.

"Ah, yes, the Marriage Law," He said, and he frowned slightly. "And who is the lucky man, Miss Gother?"

She quirked a brow. "I'm sure you read it in the papers somewhere – I'm the wife of Severus Snape."

Both of his elegant eyebrows shot up. "Oh! My, my, that's quite an age difference, isn't it?" He said, and it was precisely the right thing to say – at least in his situation. Her mask dropped over her face like a guillotine, and those silver eyes turned to ice.

"Yes. It is. I'm afraid I must bid you good day, Mr. Cobsworth." Sarah said tightly, and turned to go. He caught her elbow, and she flinched, but only slightly.

"Please, I am sorry if I offended you. It's just I don't see how a young, pretty woman such as yourself could be married to Professor _Snape_, of all people." He said, with just the right note of subtle loathing. "Do accept my apologies, Miss Gother, and please, consider my offer. I would enjoy being your friend, if nothing else." He gave her a quick bow, and Apparated before she could bid him farewell.

Something was fishy.

She could sense it. Her nearly-impeccable Auror sense was pricking up, and she couldn't quell the unease in her mind. _Oh, shut up_, she snapped at her Auror senses. There was nothing wrong with accepting an offer of friendship, especially with an author she admired and respected. He was genteel, elegant, and rather handsome. He certainly wasn't rude, sarcastic, and insulting, like he _dear_ husband. Sarah marched through the Ministry with her nose in the air, banging the grille on the lift shut behind her. She would find him later, she decided, and accept his offer of friendship. Because she needed a friend in a time like this.

* * *

><p>"Did she buy it?" Ian asked Barnaby. The three of them were back inside the sweet shop, browsing among the candies. The owner, who had been Confounded nearly a week ago, was whistling cheerfully.<p>

"Yes, yes," Barnaby snapped. "I'll know her inside and out by the end of a week. Its your move, Lindsey."

Lindsey checked herself in the mirror. The sophisticated blonde was applying her usual glamour charms with an experienced flick of her wrist, running the tip of her wand around her eyes and lips. By nearly anyone's standards, she was beautiful – long and lean, with thick blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She got up with an annoyed huff, blinking at herself in the mirror. "Ian, run off and fetch me a coffee," She said sweetly, and the stocky young man smiled winningly at her. "There's a dear," She called after him as he left. When Ian was out of the way, she turned to Barnaby. "Barnaby, I won't have her hurt," She hissed under her breath. "Not again. I don't see how this is going to help the job –"

"Lindsey, _relax_," He soothed. He pressed her knuckles to his lips. "This is the best for Sarah, you will see. She won't ever hear from him again, I promise you. She won't know a thing. As far as she knows, he'll be going to Azkaban."

"I'm still not sure," Lindsey muttered, her lips tightening. "Barnaby, I'm not ... _fond_ ... of the Professor, but I do think this sounds exceptionally cruel."

"It is none of your concern," Barnaby said coldly. "And if you are still unsure, think of the _money_. A thousand Galleons, Lindsey, keep saying that to yourself. A thousand Galleons for each of us. Me, you, Keith, Ian, and Miss Gother over there." A little bit of life flared in Lindsey's eyes. "And besides," Barnaby added, "I would think that Miss Gother would heartily approve. After all, didn't the Professor kill her beloved Quinn?" He raised a knowing brow.

Lindsey laughed nervously, eyes lowering. "Rumors, Barnaby, just rumors. Of course, _Sarah_ thinks that he did – we told her, anyway, and she believes it. And as for the revenge..." Lindsey paused, cleared her throat. "Sarah isn't like that. She'll want justice, not revenge. She might want to smack him a little, but Sarah will be perfectly content with him behind bars."

"He'll be behind bars," Barnaby murmured. "Bits of him, at any rate." There was a slightly wolfish, predatory gleam in his eyes. "This will be a wonderful victory, Lindsey, for us, for the Ministry, for the Light Eaters...And for the greater good."

_The greater good_.

"And who's greater good would that be, Barnaby?" Lindsey asked as his thumb rubbed circles over her wrist.

"Ours, of course. We will take _excellent_ care of Severus, Lindsey – the Light Eaters have several ... shall we say ... tasteful ideas for his death. All you need to do is keep Miss Gother unaware of her part in all this." Barnaby told her.

"She's not stupid," Lindsey told him angrily, jerking out of his grip. "She's afraid, but she's smart. If she knows ... if she gets even the smallest _inkling_ that Severus didn't kill her brother, this whole plan will come collapsing down on our ears."

"As smart as Miss Gother is, I don't think she'll find out," Barnaby chuckled. "The only reason she would doubt your story is if she actually developed feelings for him. And we both know how improbable that is."

Irony is a cruel mistress.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review. We're having a stressful time in our household right now, and I could really use a pick-me-up. Thanks to all! **

* * *

><p><strong>thephantomphoenix: <strong>I can promise you, Sev and Sarah won't be friends. Not in the strictest sense of the word, anyway. But I can say that the will be very, very close. Just not friendly. And no laughing or smiling, more like insults and jibing. Ooh, that rhymed. o.O Must stop reading Ogden Nash... As for Ink Warriors, I'm really sorry I've been neglecting it – my muse seems stuck in Harry Potter, at least for the moment.

**TheWordMasterOfFiction: **I heard you are friends with Firestorm Naruglos (I badly misspelled her name, I can't spell it right, it seems)! She's a friend of mine as well, and its nice to know how well connected the fanfiction community is.

**Sydney Jo: **Severus will not go to Azkaban, but whether he will be sent someplace nastier is entirely a secret. xD Aren't I evil?

**R Unworldly: **Oh, I'm so glad you think so! I was a bit nervous making a Marriage Law fiction, but the idea is so good that I couldn't resist. I found the old prompt on LJ, and I thought 'Hmm. There's so many of those. I wonder how it could be interesting again?' And then it sort of clicked – make the woman an Auror spying on Severus. And to top it all off, she feels guilty for liking him because he supposedly killed her brother. xD And voila! Let there be _Theoretical Love_!

**FFAMasquerade2005: **I'm sorry other Harry Potter fictions haven't been good for you – I've seen some horrendous ones, and some absolutely fantastic stories on here. I'm a big SS/HG shipper, and believe it or not there are an incredible amount of quality fics about them on here. You just have to look deep enough. If you ship them as well, I would recommend _Care of Magical Creatures_, which is another Marriage Law fiction – and a considerably better one than this, I'll add. I love that story – absolutely fantastic.


	12. Chapter 12

_Don't be stupid._

All his life, he had very rarely called himself such a word; he knew he had intelligence, he knew he was a good deal smarter than others, but what he was doing right now was incredibly, _incredibly_ stupid. He _knew_ that if she woke, she would promptly tear his head off, and run sobbing off to the bathroom to immerse herself in a bath. In spite of himself, he curled his lip - she had moments of strength, but these days he was seeing why, exactly, she had been sorted into Hufflepuff. Icy and cold on the outside, but he could see the glimmer of warmth desperately trying to come out.

There was no such thing as true innocence – just stupidity. He fully believed this. But if there was anything approaching innocence, she had it. And if was visible now, as she lay here on the couch, the wool blanket curled around her petite frame, blonde hair spilled raggedly against her jaw. She looked nothing like she did in real life – Sarah was mussed, disheveled, and peaceful looking while she slept, which was three things she would never be in real life. Again, he asked himself why he was watching her, but he already knew the answer. The nightmares had struck again, in full force, and he saw Lily's green eyes flashing before his, fiery red hair plunging down her back and shoulders, glaring at him tearfully, hatefully, hurtfully. And _he _had caused that. No matter what he felt, no matter what he did, the _guilt_ gnawed at him with razor sharp fangs, tearing off little pieces of his soul little by little.

So he had come out here, looking for something to do, and had nearly missed it, this moment of accidental vulnerability. _Turn away, leave,_ he snarled at himself. Because he couldn't afford to allow any emotions to come into play, couldn't risk that in the slightest. No, he wanted their marriage to end as painlessly as possible, with mild-to-medium cordiality, and he hoped that the day would come quickly where he could legally kick her out. To face the truth, he couldn't stand living with someone so similar to him. He had lost Lily, she had lost her brother.

_Quinn Gother_. Why was that name so damn familiar?

It nagged at his brain, chafing him and irking him to no end that he couldn't place a face with the name. Quinn wasn't a horribly common name, but somehow he remembered meeting a Quinn, somewhere. There was a negative emotion attached to it, but he couldn't think of _why_. Sarah and Quinn must have been close for her to turn in such a radical direction, changing from a sweet Hufflepuff with glasses to a sharp, cold, defensive icicle of a woman. Such an icy woman.

Such a _secretive_ woman.

What, exactly, did she write for the _Prophet_? She had never volunteered any information. What was her job, that she had to constantly go to the Ministry, always "checking in" with her boss? Come to think of it, who was her boss? And what had happened with her brother to make her so damn bitter?

Severus Snape wasn't a man who trusted blindly – didn't trust at all, usually. And he wanted to probe out every secret from this woman, tear her apart thread by thread, scrutinize her life, her thoughts, her emotions. Because he couldn't understand _why_, _why, why_ he was so interested. He had never been interested in any woman except one, the one woman he had betrayed and helped murder. So why her, why now? Why _any_ of it? Why did he want to expose all of her secrets when he sure as bloody _hell_ wasn't going to tell her anything about him? Why?

_Because you want to trust her_, he told himself waspishly. _That's why. _

_Damn, I am an idiot._

* * *

><p>"I'm going out," She announced, swinging her bag onto her shoulder. "I'm meeting a friend for lunch."<p>

"Mm," He responded, idly pursuing the paper. His long, white fingers twitched through the _Prophet_, liquid black eyes pursuing the type indifferently. The scattered remains of breakfast lay before him on the scarred wooden tabletop: a plate with a few smears of runny yolk, a crust of toast, and a half-full mug of barely sweetened tea. Those dark brows flicked upwards, and he tossed aside the paper with a quick, sharp motion. Sarah inwardly shrank away, fingers clenching slightly around the strap of her bag. Why she had this sudden, morbid desire to inform him of her daily tasks and ask for his approval was beyond her. His voice was steady, without the barest quiver, and he practically glared at her from behind the table. "What column do you write, Miss Gother?" He inquired.

"Someone has a sudden interest, do we?" Sarah sniped back automatically. "Funny, I don't remember you being all that interested in what I did before."

"I am interested," He returned lowly, "in where my _wife_ goes every day. From what I understand, you don't need to be at the Ministry to write a two-bit column."

"It isn't a two bit column," She snapped. "I write the _Acid Ink_ column. Look me up, if you want, but if you criticize me, Severus Snape –" She turned back on him, silver eyes flashing angrily, spots of color flaming in her cheeks – "-if you criticize me, I swear I will roll that paper up into a very tight cylinder and shove it up your arse."

She left with a turn of her heel and a slam of the door. A few moments later, there was another, louder, slam of the shop door. There was a slight desire to get up and watch her angry march down the street, but instead he flipped to the front of the paper with a dark glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.

**_Acid Ink_**

_By S. Martin_

_The Marriage Law has passed, and its been officially proved that Minister Shacklebolt, while initially a good choice, turned out to be an absolute sodding idiot. _

_I understand that he was chuffed to pass the law at all, but the point is, he _did_, and now I'm married along with every other single witch around my age. _

_I know you're all wondering who's the lucky bloke I got ringed with, but _ha-ha!_ I'm not going to say. Suffice to say he's a cruel, belittling man who likes_

_to see me blush, and the two of us are getting along rather well. We're not speaking, and I'm sleeping on the couch – not to mention I haven't read_

_a good book in nearly a week, and its driving me absolutely mad. Also, I haven't had time to venture out and report about all the idiots I see. How sad._

_The Golden Trio has also been matched up with enemies – Hermione Granger to Blaise Zabini, Ronald Weasley to Sylvia Nott, and Harry Potter with _

_Pansy Parkinson. The-Boy-Who-Lived was seen the other day looking fairly cozy with his new bride in a café near Diagon Alley – I don't know why _

_he's complaining, Parkinson's rather good looking, if you can get past the poodle hair and beetle eyes. And Mr. Weasley has been fairly quiet, for _

_once – _very_ unusual, for our resident playboy. No doubt he's staying at home with his new wife, Sylvia, who is without a doubt the prettiest girl_

_I've seen in ages, so they're probably having fun getting to know one another. Got any tips, Ron? _

_Miss Granger is, perhaps, the most interesting couple of the Golden Trio . Her marriage to Blaise sparked many rumors, but Granger – who was_

_a very firm advocate for the breaking down between blood statuses – came out and made a statement yesterday. "Blaise and I are getting on_

_very well," Miss Granger said at her press conference on Sunday. "We both believe this law, while unpleasant, is necessary to help bond the _

_Wizarding World." _

_Clearly, the considerable brains Miss Granger once possessed have been shagged out by her Slytherin husband. _

_S. Martin._

_Quinn Martin. _

That annoying little boy who tagged along behind him all the time, had actually asked for his _autograph_ once, with the sleek blonde hair and large green eyes. The boy who had sent him a rather nicely worded letter asking to come apprentice beneath him. He had chucked it in the bin where it belonged, of course, but he remembered one distinct thing about Quinn Martin. Everybody did – he had scraped a spot on the front page for a day or so, before his name melted beneath the sea of names of people who had been killed in the War.

Quinn Martin had been murdered by Death Eaters. And Severus had been there when it happened.

Merlin, he remembered it well. The Dark Lord had said Quinn was a nosy reporter, and of _course_, His Highness couldn't be bothered to be there for his killing. No, he had other, more _important_ things to do. More important things then watch a young boy die. Such a curious boy – big, wide green eyes framed with thick blonde lashes, filled with tears, his limbs lashed together with invisible bonds. Such a pity – but the killings had begun to overlap onto one another, blend into each other seamlessly. He had watched Bellatrix torture, Fenir maim, Lucius interrogate, and Nagini eat dozens – perhaps hundreds – of people. But he remembered Quinn, because he was one of the handful which he had stood up for. One of the few he had stopped from being too badly tortured. And Nott, _fucking Nott_, had sighed dramatically and raised his wand. "You, Severus," He had said blandly, "Take the fun out of everything." And he killed him. Just like that. Without blinking an eye. Quinn had been just ... in the way.

Just a boy. Just a brother. Just a friend. Just a person.

Just a victim. Just a schoolboy. Just a wizard. Just a half-blood.

Just a person Severus had watched die. Just a person ripped away from his sister.

Now, just a ghost.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I've never really asked my reviewers to do anything but review or look at some banners before, but I'm going to ask you to do something for me. If you have parents, don't _ever, ever, ever_ say 'I hate you' to them. I know most kids say it, but I didn't expect my oldest daughter to say it to me. You have no idea how much it hurts, guys. So, please, if you're young enough to have parents, don't ever say that. Ever. Please. **


End file.
